


WIP Amnesty - Unfinished Sterek Chubby Kink Fics

by roundelet



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Belly Kink, Body Image, Chubby Derek, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundelet/pseuds/roundelet
Summary: This is for those of you who want to read about chubby Stiles and chubby Derek and don't mind plots that aren't resolved. Posted here for chubby kink posterity. Because that's a thing, right?Directory of ficsposted 10/14:Ch 5: Established Relationship AU Snippet (580 words, modern AU, chubby Derek, chubby Stiles)Ch 6: His Omega (8.4k, ABO AU, high school AU, chubby Stiles, pining)Omegas are supposed to be soft, but Stiles realizes he's taken that a little too far.





	1. Derek Hale and the Magic Weight Gain Curse (7k, chubby Derek/chubby Stiles, weight gain, insecurity)

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I posted a series of 'WIP amnesty' fics on my tumblr. It was part catharsis, part self-indulgence. But, also, there's a real dearth of chubby kink out there (though there's more all the time, I adore you, all you amazing authors!). And I love some of the WIPs on ao3 and tumblr that are probably never going to be finished but I keep going back to read anyways.
> 
> I decided to start up the 'WIP amnesty' theme again, but to post on ao3 instead of tumblr. For the sake of chubby kink posterity, naturally. :)
> 
> Some of the stories are on the longer side, and there may be multiple chapters, but I'm going to post them in this single work. I don't want to mislead anyone into thinking they're polished stories or will someday be finished stories. (Not saying it won't ever happen, but I don't have current plans to finish these).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek rejects the wrong witch, and is cursed to gain weight until no one finds him attractive anymore. The problem is, Stiles thinks he's burning hot at every weight.
> 
> Featuring magical Derek weight gain and a little bit of slightly chubby Stiles.
> 
> Ch1 - main text  
> Ch2 - remainder of plot as an outline  
> Ch3 - reference of Derek descriptions at each weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be reposting the ones from my tumblr, too, but I want to start with something no one's seen.

Stiles stares over at Derek, shirtless and covered in the glean of sweat and dirt as he steps out of the forest. from wresting with his betas. Scott stomps up the front stairs to the old house, Erica heads to the car for this mystery 'date' they've had to hear so much about.

Derek steps up to him. Stiles makes a show of looking him over, running his tongue over his lips, while Derek just smirks smugly back. There's something a little different, though, a little off and--oh--Stiles stares.

"Stiles," Derek says, and Stiles's gaze snaps back up to his face. "You want to take this back to the loft?"

Yes. Yes he does. And he's about to say that, but instead what comes out as he stands up is, "I didn't know werewolves could gain weight."

"What?" Derek gives him his confused frown.

"This," Stiles says, and pokes his finger into Derek's abs. Which are still there, he can feel the hard ridges. But somehow they're not visible today.

"You think I've gained weight?" Derek looks down, then up again. He has his confused frown on his face and Stiles suddenly realizes it's kind of a douchy thing to point out that Derek's gone from probably 3% body fat to 4%. Especially since he never even said a word when Stiles skipped lacrosse season this year and had to buy bigger jeans.

"Um, no?" Stiles says. "Never mind. Let's do that thing. The going back to the loft thing. Where's there's other things. Like running water. And lube. And, hey, why haven't we replaced the lube that was in your glove compartment? Because, seriously, it's been empty like a week now, ever since that night when you--"

"Oh my god, Stiles!" Scott's stomping out of the house behind him. "Werewolf hearing!"

Stiles shoots him his innocent eyes. "Sorry. Forgot?"

Derek just shakes his head and grabs Stiles's hand, "Come on," he says, as he drags him back to the Camaro.

 

A few days later, Stiles pushes Derek back, just far enough so that he can rip off his v-neck, and shoves him onto his back on the couch cushions.

"The bed's right there, Stiles," Derek points out, but he's working at the hem of Stiles's shirt, too, as Stiles straddles his hips, one leg on the floor, because, okay the couch is a little narrow for this.

"That's like fifteen feet away," Stiles complains.

"Hmm," Derek follows his eyes over to his bed. "I see your point."

Stiles is distracted by sight of Derek laid out before him. And, huh. The bit of flesh covering Derek's abs is a little more than Stiles remembers from the weekend before, his jeans actually look a little snug around his waist.

But then they've always been tight anyways. A fact Stiles used to complain bitterly about before they'd gotten together, until Scott finally asked why he was so obsessed with the fit of Derek's clothing.

"What point?" Stiles says, finally, dragging his eyes back up.

Derek just looks amused as he tugs him down into a soft kiss.

 

It's the weekend after graduation and Stiles is looking forward to a week of freedom before he starts his intern job down at the station. His plans for the week include movie nights with Derek, the new Call of Duty over at Scott's, going to see [[[]]].

His plans for the night include: showering off the results of an impromptu liaison with Derek before they meet up with his dad for weekly dinner at Scott and his mom's place.

Well, his plans turn out to include being shoved out of the shower after Stiles ignored Derek's repeated protests of, "If you keep doing that, we're going to be late."

"Geez, it's not like you have to keep trying to make a good impression on dad," Stiles grumbles, as he dries off his hair. "He already likes you."

"He doesn't like me, Stiles," Derek says as he turns off the water. It's an old argument, and Derek's unfortunately not wrong.

So his dad had been particularly thrilled when Stiles announced he had a boyfriend. Actually, that part had gone all right.

It was the next part that had been the sticking point, when Stiles announced his boyfriend was the same Derek Hale that his dad had arrested three times. (The time the year before hadn't even been Stiles's fault. Derek really needed to stop hanging out suspiciously around dead bodies.)

Also, it had only been a week after Stiles's 18th birthday, so that probably hadn't helped, either. It hadn't escape Stiles's attention that his father had very carefully not asked how long they'd been going out.

"Well, he's coming around," Stiles amended. And, yeah, now that the heat of his arousal was dampening since Derek wasn't soaping him up anymore--a job he took very seriously--he could admit Derek's a little bit right about not wanting to be late. Coming to the dinners had been a big step, and it was at the one of said dinners that Derek had first referred to Stiles as his boyfriend, so, yeah, they were occasionally awkward but not all bad.

"You ready, then?" Stiles said as he stepped towards the door. "You're the one who didn't want to be late."

Derek didn't answer but Stiles heard a grunt. He looked back at Derek, who was tugging his jeans on and, wow, having trouble buttoning them. Stiles felt his jaw drop in surprise. Luckily Derek was too focused on getting them on to notice.

It hadn't been so obvious until now, but Derek had definitely gained a few more pounds since the last time Stiles had noticed a few weeks ago. Stiles was actually surprised when Derek got them buttoned, because they were really tight now. He even had a little bit of belly -- more obvious since it was squeezed over the top of the jeans.

"You could just get a bigger pair," Stiles suggested.

Derek's head snapped up at that. His eyes were wide with something that looked more like fear than embarrassment.

"Or not," Stiles said quickly. "It doesn't matter, man."

Derek had shoved on a henley, and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking towards the loft door without saying anything.

"Fuck," Stiles muttered to himself, cursing (not for the first time--hell, not for the first time that *day*) his lack of brain to mouth filter).

But as he trailed after Derek down the stairs to the car, it struck him how weird this was. Not so much that Derek had put on some weight. Sure, when he'd always been in preternaturally (supernaturally?) good shape, it was a little surprising. But, hey, people gain weight in relationships sometimes. When they're happy in relationships. (Not that Stiles has any familiarity with that.)

But more so that Derek didn't seem to be eating any more than usual. He'd never been a eater, taking only one or two slices of pizza while Stiles and his betas just dug in. And Stiles knew he hadn't cut back his workout schedule, his trainings with the pack, or morning runs.

Which left the only possibility that Derek was eating in secret. Which would not have been entirely out of character, since Derek tended to feel guilty and try to deny himself anything that made him feel good, but he'd been getting better about that lately. And, plus, Stiles had a good radar for junk food, he was pretty sure he would have known if there had been any stashed in the loft.

 

Derek barely picked at his food that night. Which even Melissa noticed, asking him if he was feeling all right. He'd just grumbled that he was fine, and Stiles felt terrible, which led to him barely picking at his food, and then Melissa worrying that she'd overcooked or overspiced the ham, and earned vehement denials from Scott and his dad.

 

Derek didn't take off his shirt at the next pack training.

 

Later that week, Stiles went over to Derek's, planning to order take-out and have lazy sex while watching his old Dr Who dvd's. Except Derek was in a foul mood, and barely talked to him.

"Look, you clearly aren't in the mood for me tonight," Stiles said, after twenty of minutes of trying to engage Derek in conversation while waiting for the Chinese to get there. And, yeah, Stiles was used to holding up the burden of their conversations but Derek wasn't helping at all tonight.

Stiles expected him to stop him as made to open the loft door, but when he looked back, Derek wasn't even looking at him.

When he got to his jeep, he let his head fall onto the steering wheel and blinked back the stupid tears in his eyes.

 

[[delivery guy shows up as stiles is leaving]]

 

Stiles arrived unannounced the next day, determined to fix whatever he'd done to mess things up between them. They'd been together eight months now, and, sure it wasn't like they'd never argued. But it was usually over Derek doing stupid self-sacrificing things or Stiles doing self-sacrificing things. And usually involved yelling followed by angry sex back in Derek's loft. Or on one memorable time up against a tree in the preserve. Which had been hot, except for the splinters afterwards.

But they'd never argued like this. They hadn't even argued. Derek had just shut him out. Stiles had a hard time believing it was just because he'd stupidly pointed out that he'd gained weight. Because, really, this was a pretty dramatic overreaction to a few pounds.

He let himself in with his key to find Derek doing push-ups. He did them with such vehemence they looked more like punishment than the usual [calm] look he got when he was working out. Stiles didn't know how he hadn't heard him, but Derek leapt to his feet with a glare at him when Stiles slammed the loft door shut behind him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"What am I doing here?" Stiles repeated back, flailing his arms. If his keys went sailing to crash on the floor neither of them were distracted by it. Derek just crossed his arms, and, huh, his arms were a little beefier than usual and was that an actual bit of belly stretching his shirt? "Oh my god, Derek, I'm your boyfriend, why would I not be here?"

Derek slumped down into one of the secondhand dining chairs. He didn't say anything.

Stiles bit his lip, his confidence failing him all at once, a voice in his head asking, was he still Derek's boyfriend. His stomach dropped and he said in a small voice, "Please don't break up with me."

Derek looked up at him across the loft, eyes wide. "That's not. I'm. Stiles."

"Just tell me what I did wrong, ok?" Stiles begged. He hesitantly stepped closer. "I promise, I'll fix it, whatever I did."

Derek let out a long sigh. "It's not you."

"Oh my god, if you say it's not you it's me, I swear--"

"I don't exactly have a six pack anymore, Stiles," Derek said, sounding as if the words physically pained him to get out. And, what the hell.

"Do you really think I'm that superficial?" Stiles demanded angrily.

Because, god, he loved Derek. He'd told him he'd loved him for the first time over when the pack had gone camping over spring break. He'd splashed Derek with cold river water, and Derek had pushed him into the pool of water and they'd had a water fight and that somehow ended up in Derek honest to god laughing, and Stiles had hugged him tight and said, "Oh my god, I love you so much."

But now Derek was saying, "I don't blame you."

"Um, yeah, you should blame me!" Stiles exclaimed. "I'm not that thin anymore and you never acted like it mattered. You totally should blame me if I was going to leave you because you gained a couple pounds."

"It's not just a couple pounds," Derek bit out, and honest to god reached down and squeezed his new belly.

"What, dude, who even cares?" Stiles flailed his arms. "And, okay, whatever, maybe I am superficial, but I'm the kind of superficial that thinks you're crazy hot no matter what you look like."

Derek frowned at him. "That doesn't even make sense."

Stiles grabbed at his shirt, tugging him closer, into a full bodied hug. "It does, too, you idiot."

They stayed like that for a moment, Stiles breathing in the spiced forest scent of him. Derek stayed tense, but he let himself be hugged.

They stayed like that until Derek pulled back and asked softly, "What if I can't lose the weight?"

"Did I ask you to?" Stiles said. He bit his lip. "Just. Tell me we're okay. Okay?"

Derek's hand came up to graze his cheek, and he said, "Yeah, Stiles, we can be okay."

After the river, after they'd changed into dry clothing and were watching some random shark show on discovery channel, cuddling on the couch with Derek's arm tight around Stiles's waist. Derek had said, suddenly, quietly, in the middle of *** explaining how they captured a great white, "I love you, too."

 

They ended up on the couch this time, too, slowly kissing, not anything like the frantic way they usually come together after arguments. And, also, usually, Stiles's stomach didn't start growling after only a few minutes.

Derek huffed out a laugh into his neck and Stiles felt his cheeks heat up.

"Shut up," he said. "I didn't eat breakfast."

Derek's hand found Stiles's stomach and gave it a pat. "You should eat."

Stiles resisted pointing out that his own stomach wasn't so flat anymore, either, and Derek's didn't see him angsting over it.

Score one for brain to mouth filter.

"There's food in the kitchen," Derek said when Stiles didn't get up.

Stiles still hesitated. "You're not going anywhere?"

Derek gives him a brief soft kiss and says, "I'm not going anywhere."

 

The Chinese from last night was still in boxes in the fridge. Stiles opened each one experimentally. None of it had been touched. But Derek hadn't even gotten a microwave yet, and he didn't feel patient enough to warm it up in the oven. The only other things in the fridge were bottles of water and gatorade and mountain dew (for Stiles, Derek hated the thing), and a couple protein drinks. Which Stiles had tried, and eww.

So he went searching the cupboards instead.

Which weren't exactly bountiful, either. He ran across the half-empty bag of chips Stiles had stashed there himself after the last pack meeting when they'd uncharacteristically not demolished all the food laid out.

He frowned at it. A thought niggled at his mind.

He took the bag and walked back to the couch, where Derek was still sitting, not doing anything, just waiting there expectantly.

Stiles held up the bag and accused, "What is this?"

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously, dude, this is from, like, a week ago," Stiles said. "And they're the cool ranch kind. You like these."

"If you don't want to eat them, you don't have to," Derek said. And Stiles knew he knew he didn't like the flavor.

"Not the point!" Stiles exclaimed. He thrust the bag at him. "You didn't even eat these."

"Was I supposed to?" Derek said.

"No, just." Stiles wondered how to attack his point without offending Derek and leading to another miserable couple days. But he couldn't just let this go. "And the Chinese," he said. "You didn't eat any of it."

"No," Derek said slowly. "I put it in the fridge. You can just heat it up, Stiles."

"You don't even have a microwave, dude, and you barely have plates, what am I supposed to do, just put the paper boxes in the oven?" Stiles exclaimed. Then realized he was a little off track. "Anyways. They were hot last night. And I orderedy our favorites. You didn't eat them."

"Sorry?" Derek said. He still looked a little quiet, a little vulnerable, after their not-argument.

Stiles sighed. He didn't want to do this, but he knew he had to. Something was off here and if Derek was under some kind of curse or spell or something he couldn't just let it go.

"How much are you even eating?" Stiles said.

"What?" Derek said.

"Because I'm pretty sure you're living on protein drinks and little squirrels you hunt down in the woods," Stiles said. "Like you always have except when I make you eat real meals."

"You want me to eat more meals?" Derek quietly glanced down at himself, at where his little belly was visibly pooched out over his jeans, pulling his v-neck shirt taut. Stiles followed his gaze and got distracted for a minute thinking how much he really wanted to touch his little belly, see how much it jiggled. But Derek was saying, eyes averted from him, "Stiles, I obviously don't need to eat *more*."

"Yes, you do need to eat more nice meals, but that's sort of beside the point here." Stiles ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know if you're aware of this basic biologic fact, but people usually gain weight when they eat too much and don't exercise."

"I run in the forest every day, Stiles," Derek cut in defensively. "I work out, I--"

"Oh my god, obviously. That's my point, Derek." Stiles gestured widely with his arm holding the chips and a couple spilled onto the floor. He ignored them.

"Look," he gestured towards Derek's middle. "You look like you've gained at least 20 pounds. And a month ago you had a six pack."

He was Derek's jaw clench.

"Look, you could be going on gigantic junk food binges every day, and you still wouldn't gain this much weight."

"I'm not--"

"Dude, I know you're not." Stiles dropped down onto the couch next to Derek, facing him excitedly. "It has to be a curse, or spell, or something. It just doesn't make sense."

Derek still looked tense. Stiles sighed.

"Okay, look." He put down the bag of doritos and pulled up his own shirt to reveal his own belly. Derek looked surprised, stared at it, the white, mole-dotted skin. Stiles suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if this was really worth it. Because, yeah, he was naked with Derek all the time, and it wasn't like Derek ever seemed to have any reservations about Stiles's body, but it was different focusing on it.

He patted it, let the couple inches of soft fat jiggle. Derek's eyes widened, and oh, god, Stiles was probably going to die. But instead he said.

"Look, you know where this came from. It's not exactly a mystery," he squeezed the little roll lapping over the waist of his jeans. They weren't tight when he was standing, but they were a little snug when he was sitting. "I mean, case in point, right? I'm not exactly working out, and, well, it's not like this is the first time I'm going right for the doritos."

Derek was still just staring at his stomach. Stiles bristled and tugged his shirt back down, swatting Derek's hand away. "Dude, really, don't act like you didn't know. I mean, I had to buy new jeans and stuff a couple months ago. It's kind of obvious."

"I know," Derek said.

And it suddenly occurred to Stiles that what if Derek hated fat people? Like, not in an asshole way. But just wasn't attracted to guys with a little chub? Because he was freaking out so much about gaining weight himself, maybe because he found it so repulsive...

He felt a familiar hand on the back of his neck, and a familiar voice, "Calm down, Stiles."

"It's fine," Stiles said quickly. "I'm fine. Look, I think I've made my point that this--" he gestured towards Derek's belly, because that was really the point of this. "Doesn't make any sense."

"Then what does?" Derek says, and pulls away from Stiles.

"I don't know, a curse? A spell? Have you pissed off any witches lately? Seriously, you'd think you'd have learned that lesson by now."

Derek just glared at him, then looked over pointedly at the bag of chips. "Weren't you hungry, Stiles?"

 

The night night, Derek jumped through Stiles's bedroom window. He was giving Stiles a frown, but Stiles just jumped out of his desk chair and threw himself at Derek in greeting, grinning wide.

He overbalanced and almost sent them both tumbling to the floor, but Derek was a wall of muscle and caught Stiles in his arms without even stumbling back. Good thing Derek was a werewolf. Stiles was pretty sure no human boyfriend would have been able to handle him.

"Is that right?" A smirk tugged at Derek's lips.

"You're supposed to pretend you don't hear me when I accidentally say things out loud," Stiles grumbled. "We talked about this."

Derek murmured distracted assent and steadied Stiles--who was still leaning most of his weight onto him, arms circled around Derek's neck--enough to kiss him.

Stiles tried to ignore Scott's voice coming from his earphones. 'Stiles, hey Stiles, you're getting us killed here.'

Derek's hands drifted down to Stiles's ass and, oh, fuck.

'If you're ignoring me because of Derek I swear I'll--'

Derek pushed off Stiles and held in the power button to Stiles's computer until it winked off.

"Hey, we are in the middle of something," Stiles said.

"Fighting ____s?" Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Research?" Stiles tried. "

Derek snorted and just shook his head, leaning back against Stiles's desk. The position highlighted the little mound of belly that pushed his shirt out.

Stiles sank down onto the corner of the bed. "So. Not that I'm complaining, but what brings you here, dude? You could have texted--you know my dad's here, right?"

"There was this woman," Derek said. Because he was the master of the non sequitor.

"Uh huh?" Stiles said.

"Hey, you asked me if I'd made any witches angry." Derek crossed his arms.

"Oh, yeah. Right!" Stiles sat forward, vibrating with the readiness to get into research mode. "So, when'd you see her? What did you do to piss her off? Did she say something? Like, uh, with these words, ye shall get fat."

Derek just stared at him flatly. Stiles reran what he'd said.

"Dude, I don't mean that you're fat! Or getting fat. Or--I just mean that--"

"A month ago," Derek interrupted. "She hit on me. She seemed angry and she said something."

"And you couldn't have mentioned that earlier?" Stiles ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. Sometimes his boyfriend was so dense, he didn't even know why he bothered. "Oh my god, why do I even bother with you?"

"Look, it's not like I can remember every person who tries to hit on me, Stiles," Derek glared back.

"Seriously? That's what you're going with? I mean I'll be the first to admit you're hot stuff, what with the muscles and the stubble and the tall dark and broody thing going on. But a little modesty wouldn't go amiss."

"Stiles," Derek grumbled back at him.

Stiles was pretty sure that with anyone else as his boyfriend, the fact that this boyfriend got hit on practically every time he left the house -- even when Stiles was there and they were holding hands or his arm was around his shoulders, or his waist (Derek was a surprisingly tactile guy, okay? Stiles wasn't complaining) -- would have made him feel insecure. But it had always been pretty obvious that he hated getting hit on by strangers. And Stiles knew his brushoffs were firm, or perfunctory, or he just ignored them all together.

So, yeah. It was totally plausible that Derek would have pissed off the wrong witch. Or fae (because, yeah, those existed, as he knew Boyd could pretty firmly attest to).

 

"What exactly did this witch say?" Deaton asked, after sprinking some pink fucking fairy dust over Derek that apparently confirmed that he was, indeed, under some kind of spell.

"She said I would regret it," Derek crossed his arms over his chest. Because he was back in one of his not trusting Deaton phases that he went through every few months. Granted, this was usually after Deaton withheld some vital information or announced he was remaining neutral in their battle against the trolls (which, seriously?). He'd only come because Stiles could be very convincing.

Deaton sighed. "Anything else, Derek?"

"She said that I would soon learn what it was to take my looks for granted. Or something."

"It would really help to be as precise as possible," Deaton said, and Stiles could tell his notorious patience was wearing thin.

"I thought she said you would learn what it was like to not be hot anymore," Stiles said, from his position sitting on the exam table, dangling his legs off. "Which doesn't even make sense because it's not like she gave you disfiguring scars or a melted off face or something. Although that might actually be kind of hot in a beauty and the beast kind of way. Or give him a small penis? Thought that might be sort of fun--"

"Stiles." Deaton directed his long-suffering sigh at Stiles this time. "Perhaps we could try to stay on track here?"

Stiles mimed zipping his lips. And then said anyways, "Look, well, whatever she said, it was something about becoming less attractive, right?"

Derek nodded.

"All right," Deaton said. "I'll do my best to look through my references, though I don't know how helpful that will be, as I don't recall reading about a spell with these elements. Perhaps you can begin searching for the witch herself? That may be the most fruitful path."

"But she could be anywhere by now," Stiles complained. "It's been a month. What if she was just passing through for a witchy convention or something?"

"Stiles does have a point," Deaton said, turning back to Derek. "It would have behooved you to come to us as soon as this happened."

Derek just glared darkly back at Deaton, so Stiles supplied, "It's because he gets hit on all the time. He can't be expected to remember every one."

Derek turned his glare to Stiles this time. Stiles just shot him back a cheeky grin.

 

To Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Allison, Danny

STILES: Avengers assemble!

STILES: Derek's been cursed.

SCOTT: Again?

LYDIA: It figures.

ERICA: So that's what the belly's from? I just thought you were rubbing off on him, Stiles.

LYDIA: Oh I'm sure Stiles is rubbing off on him.

SCOTT: Lydia!!!

STILES: Look, just don't tease him about it, ok? He's not happy.

ISAAC: Tell me about it :(

ERICA: When is he ever happy?

ERICA: Anyways, I think the belly's cute.

ALLISON: Yeah, it's totally cute.

LYDIA: So, how'd he get himself cursed this time?

STILES: He pissed off a witch.

ISAAC: :(

SCOTT: Again?

 

Before they left Deaton's, he'd suggested they get a baseline weight on Derek. Derek had flat out refused.

"Derek, we need to be able to track the effects of the spell, tell us what we're dealing with," Deaton said.

"Come on," Stiles wheedled, dragging Derek out to the corridor where the scale was. Because suddenly he could not survive without knowing how much weight Derek had gained.

"No," Derek said.

"You heard what Deaton said," Stiles said reasonably. "It'll help us track the effects of the spell."

"How about we just find the witch and make her take the spell off. Then we won't need to worry about 'tracking the effects of the spell'," Derek groused.

"Derek," Stiles bargained. "How about if you step on the scale, I won't make any dog jokes even though it's totally a *dog* scale."

Derek narrowed his eyes at him. "How about I'll do it if you do it."

"Hey, I knew you'd see reason and--wait, what did you say?" Stiles turned to stare. "No, dude, this isn't about me. That doesn't even make sense."

Derek quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh my god. Fine." Stiles stepped on the scale, trying to quiet the thumping of his heart. Because it was one thing to track supernatural curse weight gain. It was another to track doritos-pizza-Ben and Jerry's weight. And the realization he'd had the other day that Derek might not be so appreciative of his chub still worried him.

He watched as the red digits couldn't make their mind up between 162 and 162.5. Finally settling, of course, on 163. He stepped off quickly, hoping Derek hadn't had time to read it.

Hopes that were dashed the moment his jerk of a boyfriend said, "I thought you said you were 147 pounds."

"I was. At some point. Obviously in the past." Stiles shoved down his self-consciousness and patted his softened stomach with false bravado. "You should just be grateful there's more of me to love."

Derek just quirked an eyebrow.

"Plus," Stiles added. "My clothes probably weigh at least five pounds. So. There's that."

"You are wearing a ridiculous number of layers," Derek allowed.

"See!" Stiles said, even though he was fifty percent sure he Derek was just humoring him he'd take it. He gestured to the scale. "Fair's fair, buddy."

The scale took a little longer to equilibriate, given that Derek stomped onto it. When it finally settled on a number, Stiles clapped his hand on Derek's back. "213 pounds, huh. How much did you weigh before?"

"I don't know," Derek said. He was still standing on the scale, staring at the number. "I haven't stepped on a scale since high school."

Stiles poked at one of Derek's biceps, which was covered in a small soft layer but still clearly gigantic muscle underneath. "Don't think that's going to be very helpful here. Hate to break it to you, but I've seen your high school yearbook pictures and you didn't have these back then."

Stiles dragged him off the scale, towards the exit. "Look, not a big deal, we'll just have to get more data points."

"Or we could just find the witch that did this," Derek repeated his earlier argument.

"Right. Or that," Stiles said, hopping into the passenger seat of the camaro.

As Derek sat down in the driver's seat, his black shirt rode up a little. To reveal the soft lower part of his 213 pound belly. Pushing over his jeans. His *unbuttoned* jeans. Shit, that was surprisingly really fucking hot. Stiles could just imagine him that morning, finally getting his way too tight jeans pulled up to his waist and then trying to button them. Sucking in, that didn't do much good with the flab of his lower belly that was in the way. Trying to push the flab of his lower belly up. And finally giving up.

It took all of Stiles's willpower (and the adderral he'd taken that morning) to keep from reaching out and touching that bit of flabby lower belly. To see what it felt like.

But then his view was obstructed by Derek shoving down the hem of his shirt. Stiles, embarrassed for having been caught staring, looked up and Derek's jaw was set, cheeks slightly flushed, as he jerked the car into reverse and out of the lot.

 

"Turn here," Stiles said abruptly, and when Derek suddenly braked and turned the camaro responded smoothly in a way that made Stiles's a little jealous. But then mentally apologized to his jeep.

"Why?" Derek said.

"And left here," Stiles directed.

"You going to tell me where you're leading us?" Derek said. He sounded annoyed but Stiles knew better. And, hey, the way he just did what Stiles asked him to warmed his heart.

"Pull in here," Stiles told him.

Derek heaved a sigh but pulled into the big chain store parking lot. "You want to get snacks for the pack meeting you probably just called at my loft without telling me?"

"Um, yeah? Maybe?" Stiles said. And he actually hadn't thought of needing snacks for the meeting. But while they were there. "All you have is a stale bag of doritos and leftover Chinese."

"I don't even have that," Derek said, as he got out of the car and automatically tugged his shirt down as he did so. "You ate it all, remember?"

"Oh. Right," Stiles said with a quick glance down at his own belly. His 163 pound belly. At the fifteen pounds that had mostly settled there, a couple spared for his ass, one or two for his thighs, and the rest there around his middle. With Derek knowing now how much Stiles had gained this year, with him noticing how much he was pigging out.

Before he could get too lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, he felt Derek grab his hand as he said, "Let's get this over with."

 

Stiles watched Derek's jaw set as he dragged him over to the clothing section. They'd picked up enough snacks now for a hoarde of hungry wolves, but Stiles had made a sharp detour away from the checkout.

"No," Derek said, as Stiles dragged him over to the denim display.

"Look, I know they're probably not whatever designer brand you like to wear," Stiles said. Because Derek's clothes were mostly brands Stiles didn't recognize. He wondered sometimes if it had been Laura who'd dressed him to accentuate his amazing body. But never got the courage to ask.

"I don't need new jeans," Derek said stubbornly.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Really? Because I think you'd be more comfortable in pants you can actually, you know, button?"

Derek's cheeks flushed a little but he didn't back down. "It's temporary," he ground out, looking embarrassed. "We should be spending this time finding the witch, not clothes shopping."

"Look," Stiles turned to him, holding up a pair of jeans in his hands. "I bet you can barely move in those. What if the witch has minions? Or summons a kraken monster or something?"

"You've been playing that game with Scott again, haven't you?" But Derek heaves a sigh and gestures towards the display of jeans. "Fine."

"All right!" Stiles held up the jeans in his hands up to Derek's body, eyeing the size. "What size are you wearing right now?" he asked.

"32," Derek said.

And, right. Because of course Stiles's size 32 getting-a-little-chubby jeans would be the same size as Derek's usual my-muscles-are-too-big-for-my-clothes jeans. The size he wore when he had a freaking six-pack.

At least Stiles still *fit* in his, he reassured himself pettily.

"All right," Stiles grabbed a few more 34's from the shelf and looked around. "Where's the dressing room?"

"Just put them in the cart," Derek said.

"But--"

Derek snatched the stack from Stiles's arms and dumped them in the cart. "Whatever dressing room montage you're imagining, Stiles? Not going to happen."

Stiles sighed. This was the problem with a boyfriend who knew you too well. "Fine." But if Derek wasn't going to even try them on, Stiles figured he should at least get a couple sizes as a contingency.

"Just the 34's," Derek said firmly, when Stiles reached for the 36's.

Stiles eyed his middle meaningfully. "You sure, dude? Because you've probably put on at least 20, maybe even 30 pounds and given the way those jeans are not fitting at all--"

Derek just glared at him; Stiles imagined he could hear the beginning of a growl and didn't want to risk Derek wolfing out. So he raised his hands.

"Fine, fine, whatever you want, big guy."

Derek's fist clenched and, okay, maybe Stiles's brain to mouth filter wasn't in top form today. So he just grabbed Derek by the arm and pushed the cart with his other hand toward the checkout.

 

The line took for freaking-ever. Why were so many people out in the middle of the day? Seriously, didn't they have jobs? Stiles shifted from foot to foot, kept checking the clock on his phone, and tapped his hand against his thigh with the extra energy. Until Derek grabbed his hand to stop him.

"This is taking forever," Stiles complained. "The others are coming over at six and I want to blow you before they get there."

Maybe he hadn't said that quietly, exactly, because he got more than one head turned in their direction. A mother glared, clapping her hands over her kid's ears.

"Jesus, Stiles, seriously?" Derek said, in a much quieter voice.

"Um, yeah, dude, I've been half-hard ever since mmphmmm," Stiles's last words were muffled due to the big hand that was suddenly clapped over his mouth. He reflexively stuck his tongue out, because this was not the first time this had happened to him. It didn't work on Derek, though, he kept his hand there. Probably because he was on rather *intimate* terms with Stiles's tongue already.

"Do you promise to be *appropriate* for five more minutes?" Derek asked firmly.

Stiles gave him a muffled response. Derek just sighed and took his hand away.

"You know that's not a promise I can make in good faith, right?" Stiles said.

Derek rolled his eyes, looking a little like he regretted everything. "I know."

 

Back at the loft, Stiles watched avidly while Derek stripped off his shirt.

Derek caught him staring when he tossed the shirt over to the hamper and glared back. Though his anger clearly covered up some embarrassment, because he tried to fold his arms over his stomach; totally failing to cover it up, though. "Stiles, I'm not putting on a strip show here."

"Good," Stiles said, stepping up to him. "I don't have any dollar bills, anyways."

He glanced down at Derek's stomach. And the half-hard erection he'd been sporting ever since he'd seen Derek's unbuttoned jeans in the car, flared to full mast. Because Derek's belly, which was beginning to curve out, soft, and pushing apart the unbuttoned waist of his jeans and obviously at some point pushing the zipper half down, was totally -- and kind of surprisingly -- but totally doing it for him.

"My fat is doing it for you?" Derek said skeptically, because apparently Stiles had said that part out loud.

"Fuck, yeah, dude," Stiles said. And leaned into Derek to kiss him. Derek's belly pushed into Stiles's own not-quite-flat-anymore stomach, and that was, yeah, totally hot, too apparently. Stiles wondered if he'd had a heretofore undiscovered chubby kink, or if his Derek kink was just expanding (ha) to an all-shapes-and-sizes Derek kink. He kind of hoped it was the former, because, wow, that would probably open up a whole new world of porn to him.

Derek's hands ran through his hair as they kept kissing and Stiles thought about asking if it was ok to touch his stomach. He'd been studiously avoiding it since Derek's silent treatment after he'd pointed out his extra weight. But, hey, better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

He ran his hands down Derek's slightly softer sides. Over the rolls at his sides that even his unbuttoned pants formed. He slid them between their bellies to cup Derek's and--

Derek hastily stepped back, his back hitting the dresser behind him.


	2. Derek Hale and the Magic Weight Gain Curse: Outline and the Ending

[[know what it's like not to be wanted]]

[[the problem with trying to get derek comfortable with his body was that his body was always changing]]

[stiles, stressed by the situation and working at police station w/donuts, gains weight too, over the summer]

Stiles's weight - 163 @ 30 days

Start: 185, size 32, large  
195, 34, large  
210, 34, large  
230, 36 XL  
240, 38, XL  
End: 255, size 40, XL

2 months, gain ~1lb/day

 

(this is formatted as Derek's weight, total weight gained, and later Stiles's weight in {} )  
****early June****  
@ 0 days - 185lb [witch curses him]  
@ 10 days - 195lb +10 [stiles notices 6 pack gone]

@ 13 days - 198lb +13 [stiles notices jeans pretty tight]

*mid June graduation*  
@ 20 days - 205lb +20 [stiles says he could get a bigger pair of jeans]  
@ 25 days - 210lb +25 [derek doesn't take shirt off at pack training]

@ 27 days - 212lb +27 [stiles comes over, derek doesn't talk to him]  
@ 28 days - 213lb +28 [stiles returns, tells him he thinks it's a curse]  
@ 29 days - 214lb +29 [derek comes to stiles, agrees]

 

****early July****  
==@ 30 days - 213lb +27 {163lb} [weigh-in at Deaton's, new jeans]  
*Stiles starts job*  
[go to witch store]

==@ 37 days - 221lb +36 {164lb}  
[derek doesn't know he's watching, derek is examining his belly in mirror]  
[danny finds witch contact, says you are lucky, the curse has a built-in endpoint, just fulfill it]

==@ 44 days - 229lb +44 {166lb}  
[switching to size 36, XL shirt]  
[stiles worries about derek working out too much, not eating enough]  
[in bed, stiles says it's cute, derek points out, you once wrote a poem to my abs, Stiles defends himself saying he was under the influence of fairy dust at the time]

==@ 51 days - 235lb +50 {166lb}  
[belly droops over his jeans; stiles sees Derek, licks his lips, obviously turned on; Derek says, don't patronize me]

 

==@ 58 days - 244lb +59 {168lb} [it's been a month, give up on witch, talk to deaton about how curse will end]  
[derek hasn't wanted to have sex in a while, it's revealed stiles is worried derek is not attracted to him anymore; derek refutes that, comes out that derek thinks he is only worth his body, for attractiveness, for fighting]

 

****early August****  
[switching to size 38, filling out XL shirt]  
==@ 65 days - 253lb +68 {169lb}  
[(breaking point) fighting a ____, not as flexible, not as fast]

==@ 72 days - 259lb +74 {170lb} [stiles figures it out -- the curse's end point is when Derek learned what it was like not to have anyone think he was attractive; and os Stiles realizes that he is the problem, the one keeping the curse from ending, by being so close with Derek and think he's burning hot at every weight he's been; so he rejects derek]

[[[[curse broken]]]]

==@ 79 days - 251lb {172lb}  
[stiles learns the curse is broken, comes back, tries to tell Derek the truth but derek doesn't believe him, or doesn't want to believe him, or thinks it's better that Stiles be free of him anyways, now that he's starting college]

 

*late August, college classes start*  
[stiles starts school, no longer w/derek, tries to pretend he's happy]  
==@ 86 days - 244lb {174lb}

 

****early September****  
==@ 93 days - 238lb {176lb}  
==@ 100 days - 230lb {178lb}  
[derek comes back, tells stiles he believes him]  
==@ 107 days - 222lb {178lb}  
==@ 114 days - 214lb {179lb}

 

****early October****  
==@ 121 days - 206lb {181lb}  
==@ 129 days - 200lb {183lb}  
==@ 136 days - 194lb {184lb}  
==@ 143 days - 184lb {184lb, 34's, large}  
\- they find this out at Stiles's house, Stiles saying that Derek needs to get a baseline weight if this happens again (this is not happening again, Stiles; Stiles is like, you gave away your fat clothes, didn't you; and Derek is, like, patting Stiles's belly and saying, why, did you want me to save them for you?, and Stiles is, like, shut up, dude.

 

\- but gets out the scale for Derek. It's the one Stiles's had presented to his father (gift-wrapped and everything, like a present) when the buttons had started to strain on his uniform; because Stiles was an asshole like that but he kind of wanted to keep him around forever, and, anyways, his dad's uniform wasn't tight anymore, so it had worked

\- and Derek gestures at Stiles and says, you know the terms; and stiles halts, says, that's not really necessary, and Derek just raises an eyebrow stubbornly, and Stiles glances down at his belly, which was about the size of Derek's from a few weeks ago, and he hasn't weighed himself since that last weigh-in at Deaton's when he was 170 and he's had to get new jeans since then. So.

Stiles makes to step on it, but then stops and tells Derek, "The number might be kind of big." He bites his lip. "You know I'm a stress eater."

Derek just smirks and gestures to the scale.

Stiles heaves a sigh and steps on. It settles on 184.5 lb. He quickly steps off, but of course Derek saw already. Because he was very intentionally eyeing Stiles's up and down with a smirk.

Stiles tries to cross his arms to hide his belly. He suspects it's not working very well. He says, "You know I'm a stress eater."

"Hmm," Derek says. He gives Stiles's belly a pat, then lets his hand linger there.

"Hey, your turn, buddy," Stiles says and pushes Derek towards the scale. He looks more relaxed than ever before stepping on it.

And, of course, the scale reads 184.0 lb.

[6 pack is back]  
[Halloween party - Stiles, a little bit drunk, texts him an ode to his former belly]


	3. Derek Hale and the Magic Weight Gain Curse: Derek Descriptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted this outline/teaser on tumblr way back in Jan 2016.

When Derek crosses 200 pounds, he isn’t even pudgy. If you didn’t know he had a six pack and he wasn’t wearing his usually tight jeans, you wouldn’t even think he’d gained any weight. But the waist of his jeans is stretched tight, digging into the small but soft flesh around his waist. If you press in, you can feel the ridges of the abs you can’t quite see.

After the next twenty pounds, he’s bulkier all over. But mostly thicker in the middle. An, sure, he has to suck in to fasten his new 34" jeans. And has to fasten them low, underneath where his stomach now rounds forward. But he insists they fit fine. The large-sized shirts he’s always worn stretch tight across both his biceps and his belly now. And his belly looks more proportionate to his ridiculous muscles than his slim waist ever had.

But by 240 pounds, his gut overpowers his muscular frame. It’s stubbornly round now; it rises up he’s on his back, spreads out when he rolls to his side. He was forced to go up to 36" pants a few pounds ago. He sized up to XL shirts, too, when he got tired of people’s eyes always drifting to the tight outline of his middle in his old shirts.

His belly is in the way now. It’s harder to bend over. He can’t do a proper sit-up anymore. His gut gets in the way of proper frottage. It pushes into Stiles no matter which sexual position they try.

At 257 pounds, he feels heavy in a way that doesn’t make sense. The extra–70? 80?–pounds shouldn’t have made a difference to his werewolf strength. And, also, his belly is bigger, fuller, wider than the extra 17 pounds should explain. It’s firm where it used to be soft. Round and taut even when he hasn’t had anything to eat all day. The only soft parts now are the rolls at his sides, across his back, between his softening chest and the top slope of his belly. And the underside, which is hidden most of the time now that his gut is slouching down over the waist of his jeans.

Derek is resigned to it by now. Doesn’t put up a fight about sizing up to 38s, about trying on a couple XXL shirts. They’re a little big, still, but better than the way the XL’s are no longer leaving his thick curves to the imagination.


	4. Nice Things (4k, college AU, chubby Derek/chubby Stiles, weight gain, hurt/comfort)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles wouldn't wake up early for an 8AM class to get coffee for just anyone and Derek is convinced he doesn't deserve nice things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some post-fire canon character death angst here. And warning that the story starts off with Stiles attracted to Derek, but not so sure he could be attracted to his weight. This changes pretty quickly and I think it ends up being mostly body positive?
> 
> One thing I like about this fic, now that I'm re-reading much later, is the way they both seem to really care about figuring out what the other one needs to be supported and feel good. I don't remember trying for that intentionally when I was writing, but it makes me want to include that in other stories.

Stiles strode in early to his psych 201 lecture. There were only a few students there but there was only one he was hoping to find. He strode in and took his usual seat next to Derek Hale and slid a coffee cup onto his desk.

Derek looked up at him with a frown. "You didn't have to do that," he said, but wrapped his hand around the cup anyways.

Stiles just grinned back, because Derek always looked so shocked when Stiles brought him anything. Which was a couple times a week now, ever since he'd coerced Derek into telling him how he liked it. Extra cream, extra sugar.

"Here, I got you this, too," Stiles handed him a blueberry muffin as he sat down next to him.

Derek frowned at him. "You didn't have--"

"Have to, I know, dude." Stiles shook his head. "But breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"I ate breakfast," Derek told him, staring down at the muffin. And, yeah, Stiles wasn't surprised. Derek definitely didn't look like the kind of guy to be missing any meals.

"So, save it for a snack later, then," Stiles told him. Derek eyed him suspiciously, but took a bite of the muffin right now anyways. Stiles knew it's maybe kind of weird to keep bringing Derek food and coffee. He felt compelled, though. He couldn't resist. Because every time he gave him something, Derek looked so surprised, like he never expected it, and maybe thought he didn't deserve anyone to do nice things for him. Which, well, made Stiles want to do more nice things for him.

It was out of the goodness of his heart. Entirely. It had nothing to do with wanting to spend a few extra minutes every Tuesday and Thursday trying to coax a rare smile onto Derek's face, or enjoy a few extra minutes of his dry humor, or pretend he wasn't staring into his captivating blue green eyes.

And, seriously, Stiles wouldn't show up early to an 8 AM class for just any reason.

The other day, Lydia Martin, who always sat in the row in front of them, had interrupted their chatting with a sharp, "do you think you hold off on the flirting until after class? Some off us trying to listen here."

"Flirting?" Stiles had sputtered, voice cracking a little too high. "Who's flirting? I'm not flirting."

"You just tell yourself that," she muttered.

Stiles had glanced over at Derek. Who quickly looked away. He looked embarrassed, like maybe he'd be flushing if he'd had Stiles's complexion. Stiles looked back down at his notes but not really seeing them. Had Derek thought they were flirting? Had he wanted to flirt with Stiles?

Stiles darted another furtive glance at him. Derek's eyes were trained on the front of the room. Okay, too be fair, he kind of thought of Derek all the time. He kind of wanted to be around him all the time. He was the kind of guy he'd have had a major crush on -- okay, maybe kind of did have a semi-major crush on? -- except that...

Well. Derek was kind of fat. Chubby. With a belly that didn't fit all that well in the desks. A deep belly button and love handles you could see through his shirts. Shirts that, by the way, were kind of straining across his belly and kept riding up even though Derek would always quickly yank them back down.

He was carrying way more than the freshman 15. Maybe the freshman 30? 40? More? That was if he hadn't been this heavy already before he started college. Stiles didn't remember him from back then, even though they would have been freshmen together. It was a big university and Stiles knew, from their conversations, that Derek had lived in a dorm all the way across campus from Stiles and that they hadn't even had any classes in the same building last year. But, anyways, that was beside the point. Because no matter whether Derek had started college overweight or not, he was pretty firmly in that category now.

Sure, Stiles might have imagined Derek one or two... dozen times during his private Stiles time. But those fantasies tended to gloss over his extra weight. Not that he pictured Derek skinny or anything -- he couldn't really even imagine that -- but he focused more on his broad shoulders, and arms and thighs and ass and lips and maybe the prospect of getting stubble burn in some unconventional locations.

But if they were together in real life, Stiles didn't think Derek's belly -- which was where most of his weight had obviously settled, and which was now pressing against the edge of his desk -- would be so easy to ignore. 

And Stiles had never been attracted to anyone nearly as heavy as Derek before. And he didn't like to think of himself as being *that* superficial, but what if he was? He didn't want to not be attracted to him in a... critical moment.

Derek, more than anyone else Stiles knew, deserved someone who wanted all of him. Who would love all of him. Even if that wasn't Stiles.

Even if the thought of that being anyone *other* than Stiles left an bitter taste in his mouth.

 

 

So that night (thank God for roommates who had girlfriends with private rooms), he pulled up porn. Not an unusual happenstance, but this time he intentionally sought out porn of heavier guys. He looked for one with Derek's body type. Ex-jocks yielded the best results there and, yeah, Derek looked like he used too play sports, or at least work out, the muscles of his arms and shoulders and thighs weren't entirely hidden.

He finally found a video of a guy about Derek's size, and a thin guy with him. Neither of them particularly resembled Derek, or himself, but the body types were right.

The ex-jock guy's shirt rode up, like Derek's did too sometimes. This guy didn't yank it down right away, though. And so Stiles could see the bottom of his belly, soft looking where it hung over his jeans, dark hair of his happy trail rounding over the roll of fat.

The thin guy pushed the shirt up further to reveal the bigger guy's gut. And it was obvious he was turned on just from running his hands up the broad curve of the guys gut, occasionally squeezing or jiggling the fat there. Of course, this was a fetish video, it was to be expected.

What wasn't expected was how Stiles was imagining pushing his hands into Derek's gut like that and palming his quickly hardening dick.

 

 

Well, question answered, at least.

 

 

[missing scene(s) - them getting together]

 

The thing was, whenever Stiles would touch Derek's chubbiest parts, his belly or his love handles, or spend too much time squeezing his soft pecs, Derek stiffened, and once or twice even flinched away. As much as Stiles wanted to touch him there, everywhere, really feel all of him, the last thing he was going to do is anything that Derek wasn't into during sex.

So Stiles settled for reveling in the press of Derek's belly against his stomach, and maybe held him tighter sometimes so he could feel more of the pressure of the round gut against him. And reveled in the feeling of Derek's belly pressing into his back, almost too big to spoon him properly.

But Stiles -- as he tended to -- eventually screwed it up.

He was hopelessly, turned on, for one. Which, in his defense, was Derek's fault.

He'd been riding Derek for the better part of -- okay, he didn't know how long -- and resisting the urge to jack himself off (he'd already come earlier that evening, an inelegant handjob when Derek pressed him to the door when he'd first come in to his apartment).

Derek had just come, making the hottest sounds ever, and Stiles was out of his mind in lust, okay? And then Derek reached for his cock and started jacking him off, fast and hard, just like Stiles desperately needed right then.

Which was entirely to blame for how he reached his hands under Derek's shirt, to the fattest part of his belly, wobbly and fat and stubbornly rounding up. He squeezed two decadent handfuls of it -- and felt Derek's hand falter over his cock even as Stiles came all over the bare bottom of Derek's belly.

Stiles was about to collapse on top of him -- or, rather, next to him. Derek had put on some more weight lately and with the size of his belly it wasn't all that feasible for Stiles to lie on top of him anymore.

Not that Stiles and his up-until-recently unknown chubby kink -- or, at least, chubby Derek kink -- was complaining.

But something was off and before Stiles could collapse into post-orgasm bliss, he realized that Derek was holding himself stiff under him. And Stiles looked down and realized, shit, he still had his hands on Derek's gut. Fuck. Fuck.

"Shit, Der, I'm sorry. I--" He quickly jerked his hands away, and maybe a little too abruptly pulled himself off of Derek's cock, from Derek's wince.

Derek opened his mouth, but Stiles beat him to it.

Stiles said, "Look, I know you don't like it when I touch you there. I try not to, I swear. I was just... not exactly in my most lucid state of mind."

[discussion clearing up misunderstandings, Derek had no idea Stiles liked his weight, thought he was just putting up with it]

 

\----------------------------------------

 

It had started with a pizza Laura brought back to the motel room. Derek hadn't been hungry at all in the weeks since the fire. But Laura insisted he take a slice as she went to wash up. And something made him comply this time. And it tasted--good. Actually good. And before he knew it, he'd eaten almost the whole pizza.

When Laura came out of the shower, she had stared at him, wide-eyed. And he realized he'd eaten almost the whole pizza.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she said, "Oh thank god, you finally ate something. I was worried you were going to just waste away."

His belly was full of pizza when he went to sleep and he only woke up once from a nightmare. It was a change.

 

 

Maybe if alcohol, or marijuana, or anything else had been able to work on him, Derek would have turned to that. But he was a werewolf. But food. Food worked. Food let him forget. He'd tried ice cream a couple times, but food that was too sugary, it made him feel a little sick, a little wired, wasn't as helpful. But heavier things, like pizza, pasta, steak, hamburgers. A plate piled of pancakes -- covered in more butter than syrup -- and bacon for breakfast, a couple hamburgers for lunch, a steak big enough for four for dinner. Snacks in between, and whatever might be leftover in the fridge in the middle of the night when he woke up from nightmares he desperately tried not to remember.

There were worse ways of coping, after all.

 

Soon enough, the way he was eating starting showing on him. At first, he just regained the weight he'd lost by barely eating since the fire. And then one morning, Laura had caught him coming out of the shower, just a towel wrapped around his waist. And he didn't miss how her eyes widened as she stared at his middle. And then laughed.

"Baby bro, I knew you couldn't eat like that forever," she laughed and poked at where his middle pooched out. Derek hadn't realized it did that now. It never had before. And he hadn't even had breakfast yet.

"I can eat whatever I want," Derek said, slapping her hand away.

"Well, yeah, but you're going to get chubby if you keep inhaling everything in every diner we stop at," she'd said.

Derek had just shrugged. "Like I care," he said. And he realized he really didn't. *She* had liked his abs. Maybe it would be good not to have them anymore.

 

By the time they'd gotten to New York, Laura had announced they were going clothes shopping. He'd just looked at her, confused, over his plate piled high with pancakes and bacon, a mouthful of sausage in his mouth.

"You want my fashion advice?" he clarified skeptically.

"No, but I'm pretty sure you need mine."

"But I don't want new clothes," he said.

She just laughed and said, "Well, you need them, anyways." And reached over to give his little belly a pat.

He felt it jiggle and frowned down at his breakfast.

She picked out shirts a size larger, and asked him what size pants he was wearing and then piled his arms with jeans a couple sizes from that.

They were all dark pants, black henleys and gray sweaters. A black leather jacket -- she'd made him try on five different ones before finally finding one that met her criteria.

 

 

Things had gotten--well, not better, exactly. Though better was a relative term, so maybe better. Laura and him had made a kind of a life together in New York. And he started to be able to forget for longer and longer periods. He didn't need to keep himself full anymore in order to not remember. 

He kept his new pot belly, though. Maybe it even got a little bigger. New York pizza was hard to resist, after all. And it had the welcome side effect of getting him less attention. Of not having to scent that choking scent of lust on strangers very often. 

 

Laura was killed by hunters right before freshman year and Derek turned again to food. With the buffet in the cafeteria near his dorm, the weight came on fast. He slept on his back. Like the feeling of the new weight pressing onto him. It felt more comforting as he got fatter, as his belly got heavier.

It didn't keep all the nightmares away, but it helped.

 

 

At his physical when he started college, he'd stared at the scale which read 209 pounds. Not sure if he should be surprised or not by the number. Not sure if he was supposed to care or not.

But, by sophomore year, he knew it had gotten a bit out of control. He didn't need the mandatory yearly physical, with the student health doctor frowning at the forty-some pounds he'd packed on, to tell him that. 

The number of times he'd had to size up that year had been enough. The way his bigger shirts were getting too tight, and it was getting harder to button his pants. Or how it was getting uncomfortable fitting into the desks in the smaller lecture halls.

 

 

He and Stiles had been dating for a while when it came out that Stiles was actually into Derek's body, not just tolerating his weight. Derek couldn't not believe him when, now that he was paying attention, he could smell the arousal on Stiles when Derek knew he looked particularly fat, or when Stiles tentatively caressed his belly or held onto his love handles.

And so Stiles became less inhibited and Derek more relaxed and sex went from admittedly already pretty great to mind-blowing. 

Stiles had asked him a couple times what he weighed, eyes lit up with curiosity. Derek had always deflected in the past. He knew he looked every pound of what he weighed now but sometimes Stiles would say, when it came up, that he was "a little chubby", or had playfully teased him about putting on the "freshman 15". He was pretty sure Stiles was just teasing. But sometimes it made question him if Stiles had boyfriend goggles and maybe he didn't truly realize how big Derek really was.

If that was the case, hearing the number, he'd be confronted with the actuality of having a truly fat boyfriend.

So he didn't know what made him actually answer that time, maybe the relaxed afterglow of sex, or the affectionate way Stiles was stroking up his gut.

After he said the number, he saw Stiles's eyes widen and he said, "Oh, wow."

Derek stiffened. He was right that it had been a bad idea to tell him. He bit out, "It's not like it can be that big a surprise. Not like I don't look it."

"No. No, Der," Stiles had said quickly, pulling him back into a hug beside him in bed. "I figured it must be a lot. But I'm not exactly going to get a job as a carnival weight guesser anytime soon. I've never been over 150. I'm not exactly an expert."

"Is that exactly supposed to make me feel better?"

"Do you feel bad?" Stiles shot back.

Derek wasn't sure. A part of him did feel bad. At least, embarrassed to be so much bigger than his boyfriend. But it wasn't as if he wanted to be the stupid, skinny kid he used to be again.

"You know I'm so fucking into you, and how you look right now. I was just curious. And it's kind of hot to know a number, I don't know why." Stiles bit his lip. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad, or embarrassed, or whatever. Because you shouldn't feel that way."

"I don't," Derek denied quickly.

Stiles looked skeptical, but just gave his belly an affectionate pat and said, "Good."

 

\-------------------------

 

Stiles hadn't thought about it before they'd started going out, but Derek ate a lot. And it was obvious when he thought about it. He'd have to eat a lot of calories probably just to stay as big as he was. And the fact that he had noticeably been putting on weight in just the few months that Stiles had known him meant he must have been putting away a good deal more than that.

So, yeah, he hadn't thought about it, but it wasn't exactly a surprise that Derek ate a lot. And, Stiles, in turn, didn't really like finishing his meal and having to stare at Derek finishing his. And when Derek made anything for them the portions were, well, big. And when Stiles cooked for Derek, he always made vegetables because that's what he did for the people he loved. But then he made extra large portions of everything else to compensate, because he didn't want Derek to be hungry, and he didn't want to make him feel bad, as if Stiles thought he should be eating less.

It took almost a year for the extra food to have an effect on Stiles. Well, maybe Stiles gained a couple pounds in that time, but, given that he'd lost weight freshman year -- Derek ate when he was stressed and Stiles forgot to eat every time a test or assignment was due -- it wasn't really noticeable if he got back to his former size.

But it was the next summer and fall when his belly started to round forward, just a little, even when he hadn't just eaten. His pants started getting a bit snug. He actually had to retire one pair when it just wasn't worth the effort it took to get it fastened anymore.

But even if it was only a couple pounds, his middle wasn't flat anymore, except when he laid down on his back. It made him look different, fill out his clothes differently, give his reflection a different shape in the mirror.

Derek never said anything. Stiles didn't even know if Derek had noticed. But if Stiles was good at one thing, it was worrying. And so he worried what Derek thought about it. Because Derek might not have any room to talk -- not by a very long shot -- but just because Derek was solidly past overweight, and had probably gained more than Stiles had in the same time, didn't mean he was attracted to it on anyone else.

When they moved in together, Stiles could still fit in most of his clothes. He'd bought a couple pairs of new pants a size up just for comfort. And if those were the only pairs that he could actually button anymore, no one needed to know.

But the semester after they moved in together, Stiles promptly gained another twenty pounds.

"I used your scale this morning," Stiles said casually one morning as they were eating breakfast cereal at the kitchen table.

"Yeah?" Derek asked as he took another spoonful of cereal. "And?"

"And I am perhaps not as lithe as I was when we moved in together," Stiles said.

Derek laughed and reached out and squeezes the soft flesh of Stiles's new belly. "You weren't that lithe when we moved in together," he reminded him.

"Shut up, dude," Stiles said, though he was laughing, too. This was the first time either of them had mentioned Stiles's weight. He hadn't thought it would be so easy. That Derek could just laugh and tease him and he'd know everything was fine. He poked the fattest part of Derek's belly. "Like you can talk."

Derek still has his hand on Stiles's belly as he leans over and kisses him. It's a soft kiss, barely more than a brush of lips.

"Nothing I own fits anymore," Stiles complained.

Derek smirked and said, "I know." He looked him up and down with an over the top leer. "Tight is a very good look on you."

Stiles glanced down at the pants he could barely button, at the small roll of belly that rounds over the too-tight waist, especially now that he's sitting down. He doubted that was true.

But, before he could think about it any more, Derek pushed his chair back with a scrape over the linoleum floor, and tugged Stiles into his lap. Stiles shimmied in close to him, thighs locked around Derek's hips and Derek steadied him there with strong arms. There wasn't that much room in Derek's lap -- one or the other of them would have to have to stop gaining weight if this was going to keep working.

Stiles's thoughts were interrupted when Derek leaned forward, giving him a sweet, soft kiss. Stiles sighed against his lips and circled his arms around Derek's neck. He let Derek relax him with more soothing kisses.

When they pulled back, Derek said, "I used to be 'lithe', too."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles said. He rubbed his hand down Derek's fat side. "Kind of pictured you as an adorably chubby kid."

"I wasn't," Derek told him. "I had abs all through in high school."

Stiles frowned at him. "Really?"

Derek huffed a laugh. There was a strange bitterness in his voice when he said, "Believe it or not, apparently I was hot once."

Stiles pinched his side hard. "You are fucking hot right now, you jerk."

"I used to get a lot of attention," Derek continued as if Stiles hadn't interrupted. His voice was quieter when he said, "Too much attention. I can't help but wonder if things would have been different if I hadn't been attractive."

Stiles wasn't sure what Derek is talking about. But the way he said it made his words seem like a much bigger deal than they sounded like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two different fics whose drafts are named "chubby college derek.txt". Apparently that's how I roll.


	5. Established Relationship AU Snippet (580 words, modern AU, chubby Derek, chubby Stiles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first one taken from my old #wip amnesty tumblr postings. Could probably considered a short finished drabble, but I'd originally had a much larger headcanon around it (that I can't even recall right now TBH) and hadn't considered it finished at the time.

Derek settles his hands on Stiles’s hips. Lets him scoot forward, straddling Derek’s lap, until they’re pressed against each other, and Derek’s back is pressed against the couch cushions.

Stiles’s belly presses into him with all the weight he’s regained these past few months.

They kiss. Open-mouthed, lazy kisses. Stiles tugs at Derek’s hair. Derek squeezes Stiles’s ass. Which is a little rounder again, too. Derek is not complaining. He even enjoys the feeling of Stiles’s belly, big enough again to push up against his own stomach.

Stiles is back in what he not-so-affectionately refers to as his “fat jeans”. The ones he had from before he lost his college weight. Well, he’s never lost all of it. It isn’t like he’s ever been that close to fitting back in his high school (which he still, for some reason Derek doesn’t comprehend, keeps at the back of the closet). Derek’s seen pictures, seen how skinny a kid he used to be. Kind of hopes Stiles doesn’t get skinny enough to wear those old clothes.

But that’s not exactly a concern right now.

He strokes his hands up from Stiles’s ass. Fingers the love handles at his sides that have come back now when he sits down. At Stiles’s heaviest, the rolls at his sides were there for Derek to grab all the time.

Derek doesn’t know how far away from that he is. There’s a scale tucked under the bathroom cabinets but Stiles has been close-lipped about his weight the few times Derek’s curiosity got the better of him.

But he’d caught Stiles coming out of the bathroom last week, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. Spitting out that he’s tired of dieting, he doesn’t want to do it again, and obviously it’s all for nothing anyways.

Derek had just caught one flailing arm before it hit him, squeezed it firmly, and said, “Then don’t.”

“Uh. What?” Stiles had stopped in his tracks. As if the very idea was a foreign concept to him.

Stiles’s hands have drifted down to Derek’s waist, too. He’s slipped his hands under Derek’s shirt and is pushing his fingers into his abs, almost experimentally, almost as if he’s checking to see if they’re still there.

Because it’s not like Derek really has that much room to talk about Stiles’s weight anymore. Now with an inch or so of softness covering his own stomach. His belly is nothing compared to Stiles’s, but, still, when he bought new jeans they were a couple sizes larger than he was used to. He’s thought about losing the weight. It isn’t much, and Derek already works out all the time, he’d just need to eat a little less. Which wouldn’t be so much of a problem, he’s never craved that much food. Used to have to remind himself to eat. Lately, though, he just eats when Stiles’s eats, what Stiles eats. And it’s kind of a lot.

But, the thing is, Derek doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that soon after he’d woken up to Stiles’s stroking wonderingly over his stomach last winter, fingers pressing into the new flesh covering up his six pack, that things changed. That Stiles stopped putting up a fight when Derek undresses him with the lights on. That he lets Derek touch his middle without protesting anymore. That he’s slowly lost his habit of sucking his stomach around him.

Derek lifts the hem of Stiles’s shirt now, and Stiles raises his arms to help. Derek likes this. Likes them like this.


	6. His Omega (8.4k, ABO AU, high school AU, chubby Stiles, pining)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omegas are supposed to be soft, but Stiles realizes he's taken that a little too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's any story so far here I'd go back and finish, it would be this one. It's one of my favorites. But it's still been almost a year since I worked on it and I wanted to share it/get it out of my WIP drafts folder.
> 
> BTW, no MPREG. I think it might not even be mentioned in this portion of the fic.

Derek doesn't see Stiles all summer.

The first two months after school gets out, Derek's mother drags him and his sisters to visit and renew treaties with what seems like every wolf pack in the Western United States. Derek had made the perfectly valid argument that there was no point in him going when it was Laura who would be the next pack alpha. Cora piped up in agreement, since, after she'd presented as an omega earlier that year, she wasn't even in the line of succession anymore.

But Talia Hale is The Alpha. And, worse, their mother. So Derek spends two months sitting through boring pack leadership meetings and doing his best to avoid matchmaking parents of Omegas. That mainly involves going for long runs through the nearby forests.

The only highlight of his days are when his phone pings with a text from Stiles.

Well, occasionally he gets texts from Erica, too, complaining about her summer school classes, asking intrusive questions about Derek's lack of a love life, and giving him way too many details about her own. And Isaac, who sends him mournful, only half-comprehensible texts, about his one-sided love affair with Scott McCall, who he moved in with earlier that year. And telling him how much he misses full moon runs with the whole pack. Boyd doesn't text because he's Boyd. And Derek can respect that.

But Stiles. Stiles texts daily. Multiple times a day. Sometimes they text back and forth more than they've ever talked to each other. Derek gives him his own ringtone.

Sometimes Stiles rants about Omega rights. Or educates him on a topic from his latest wikipedia spiral. Sometimes he shares way too many -- probably confidential -- details from his job at the sheriff's station. 

Derek tries, and usually fails, to come up with interesting things from his days to text him. For some reason, Stiles doesn't seem to mind. In between his paragraph long rants, he still asks Derek question after question about his day.

Stiles texts him regularly, 'I miss you.'

'I miss you, too,' Derek always types back. Even as he tries not to read too much into it.

After all, he knows Stiles is only spending so much time talking to him because he's been bored at his job. And because Scott has been spending more and more time with Isaac that he used to spend with Stiles.

 

By the time Derek's mother finally declares them done with politics and they get back to Beacon Hills, Stiles is gone.

He's been forced to spend the few weeks before Senior year starts with some distant great-aunt. Derek isn't entirely clear where exactly, because Stiles is more focused on the fact that it's in the middle of nowhere. ('Their internet is dial-up, Derek. *Dial up*. You can't possibly understand my pain.')

A week before school starts, Stiles's ringtone wakes Derek up in the middle of the night.

"Derek, I miss you!" Stiles blurts out as soon as Derek answers. From his voice, Derek can guess he must have gotten into his great-aunt's liquor cabinet. At least he's more comprehensible than the last time he called Derek drunk and Scott had to forcibly take away his phone.

"I miss you, too?" Derek stifles a yawn as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. "But you're the one who's gone now."

"What are you even doing without me there?"

"Reading," Derek says, and thinks. "Studying for the SATs. I've been working out a lot."

Of course, now that he's said it out loud, it sounds pretty lame. But Stiles doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh yeah?" Stiles says. There's a hiccup on the other end of the phone and Derek just shakes his head. "I haven't been working out. At all. Like, all summer. Can you believe that?"

Derek laughs. "Yes, I can."

He hasn't kept his feelings about exercise a secret. He'd only joined the lacrosse team to keep Scott company on the bench. Stiles didn't even have to try out, since Finstock needed him to meet their mandated 'Omega quota'. Not that Scott spends much time on the bench anymore, since he was bitten by that rogue alpha. 

Stiles complains bitterly to Derek after every practice when he has to run more than a couple hundred yards.

"Well, I haven't been," Stiles says, as if Derek hadn't just agreed with him. "I got fat this summer. I'm, like, super fat now."

"Uh," Derek says, his brain trying and failing to catch up to that statement. "What?"

"You don't believe me? I'm touching my stomach right now. It's huge. And it's all squishy."

Derek is suddenly fully awake with that image. 

"Hey, wait, you're gonna be team captain this year," Stiles says, voice taking on an alarmed tone. "You're not gonna make me do extra suicides 'cause I'm fat now, are you?"

Derek huffs out a laugh into his dark room and says, "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Okay, good. Because I am so fat now, seriously. I've probably gained a hundred pounds."

"You haven't gained a hundred pounds, Stiles," Derek tells him.

"Okay, fine. Almost, though. I'm still super fat now. You wouldn't even recognize me. I probably couldn't even run across the lacrosse field if you asked me," he insists.

Derek tries, and fails, to picture Stiles 'super fat'. Sure, he'd been getting a softer figure ever since he presented as an Omega almost a year and a half ago. Before the summer started, he had had a decent bump of a belly rounding out his shirts. But he hadn't been that big, and the summer wasn't long enough for him to gain that much more weight. Even if he had mentioned more than once the six or seven or more donuts he'd eaten that day at the Sheriff's station, Derek always suspected that was hyperbole.

He has a sudden urge to see Stiles, even just in a photo. To know how much he's changed. But he reminds himself that asking Stiles to send him a selfie would be weird.

So he laughs again, even if it comes out strained, and says, "With as much as it sounds like you've had to drink, I wouldn't trust you to make it to midfield without tripping and hurting yourself."

"Rude," Stiles huffs.

Derek grins up at the ceiling.

"Anyways, nothing fits anymore. I really need new clothes but there's, like, nothing up here and I'm not shopping at MegaMart. I'm drawing the line. A line. A line has been drawn."

"Really?" Derek asks. "I'm pretty sure MegaMart would have flannel."

"Shuddup," Stiles tells him, but the effect is diminished by a loud yawn. It makes Derek laugh again.

Derek knows that spending so much time talking to Stiles this summer isn't exactly proper. Not with Derek being an Alpha and Stiles an Omega who isn't even Eligible yet.

But no one knows. And Derek can't bring himself to stop.

As if Stiles had been following his train of thought, he says, voice softer, "D'you think I'm ever gonna get Claimed?"

"Of course you are," Derek says, his chest tightening just thinking about it.

"Really? Because I'm kinda annoying and I talk too much and sometimes I do things Omegas aren't supposed to do."

"Like right now?" Derek says. "Getting drunk and calling an Alpha in the middle of the night."

"Well, you're not a real Alpha," Stiles says matter of factly. "You're Derek."

Derek isn't sure whether to be offended by that or not. He's hardly the first one to tell Derek he's not cut out to be an Alpha. But then Stiles, more often than not, doesn't have the best things to say about Alphas in general.

"And I'm not a real Omega," Stiles begins, then yawns and Derek cuts in.

"Stiles, in October, I guarantee there will be a hundred Alphas knocking down your father's door."

And Derek won't be one of them. Seeing as he won't be eighteen until Christmas and there's no way Stiles won't be claimed by then. 

Derek just hopes he finds an Alpha who appreciates that Stiles isn't the stereotypical omega. Who likes that about him. Who knows that, despite Stiles's insecurities, that he's brilliant and funny and beautiful.

Not an Alpha who just claims him for the sake of possessing a rare male Omega.

But, in the meantime, Derek is determined to appreciate the time he gets to spend with Stiles before that happens.

"You really think any Alpha's gonna want me now that I'm super fat?" Stiles is asking, voice muffled by another yawn. "Did I tell you that? That I'm super fat now?"

"You told me," Derek says. Then adds, quietly, "And I promise you it doesn't matter."

"Oh," Stiles says, equally quietly.

"You should go to sleep now," Derek tells him.

"'Kay," Stiles says. "But I miss you, Der."

"I miss you, too, Stiles."

 

Over the next week, Stiles doesn't mention their conversation, and Derek isn't sure if he remembers it or not. He supposes it doesn't really matter.

He also doesn't mention his weight again. Though Derek has been thinking about it. Has maybe even guiltily fantasized about it once or twice. Imagining more of him to hold onto. A larger expanse of his middle to explore. His shirts riding up, like they used to before he'd sized up last winter, revealing soft skin for Derek to trace his fingers over.

 

When Derek gets to school on the first day, Stiles, for some reason, is waiting at his locker.

"Hey, Stiles," Derek says, feeling a little shy. He knew he'd be seeing Stiles today. Had been looking forward to it. But he's still feeling a little self-conscious, with all that they've seemed to have gotten closer this summer, they haven't seen each other in a few months.

Stiles turns around at his voice and gives him a big grin.

"Dude!" he exclaims.

Derek can't help but give him an answering smile. Stiles looks good. His cheeks are fuller and his hair is longer than the buzzcut he had just been growing out of. His light brown eyes are sparkling.

"Uh--hey," he grunts out as Stiles launches himself at him, throwing his arms over his shoulders, belly bumping into Derek's waist.

"I missed you, man," Stiles says.

"Yeah, I got that." Derek feels his smile stretch embarrassingly wide across his face, even as he reluctantly extricates himself from Stiles's arms and takes a step back. Stiles can be oblivious to propriety sometimes, but Derek doesn't want to do anything to compromise his reputation. Beacon Hills is more liberal than a lot of other places, but it still isn't looked well upon for an Alpha and Omega to touch like this before they're bonded. Especially when Stiles is so close to becoming eligible.

Stiles seems oblivious, though, and gives Derek a slap on his shoulder. "You got huge! Why didn't you say you were, like, super buff muscle man alpha now?"

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. Sure, his old clothes had gotten tight over his shoulders and thighs. Laura had gotten way too much delight out of taking him for a hellish day of shopping for bigger clothes a few weeks ago.

But it being obvious enough for Stiles to notice is a little embarrassing. So he just looks Stiles up and down and points out, "You're bigger, too, you know."

"Fair," Stiles says. But he pokes a finger into Derek's chest. "But you have actual pecs now, don't you?" He turns to look at his arms. "And, god, your biceps. Jesus. So unfair."

Derek feels his cheeks heat and he's just glad that blushes rarely show up on his complexion.

"Anyways, I told you I'd gotten fatter. Or weren't you even listening?"

"You're not that fat," Derek says. He isn't. Even if he'd put on more weight than Derek had pictured. His belly is not only poking out like it used to but stretching his shirt out over it. In fact, none of his clothes seem to fit at all. His jeans are so tight around his thighs he wonders how he even got them on. And his flannel is bunched over his upper arms and doesn't even looks like the sides could reach over his middle to button it.

"Not that fat?" Stiles repeats.

"No, that's not--I mean," Derek stumbles over his words. "You just look soft. Like an Omega."

"Genderist," Stiles accuses, but without heat, as the school bells rings through the hallway.

Derek just rolls his eyes as he turns to dial the combination to his locker, because it's Stiles, after all, who always says that Omegas are supposed to be soft. Granted, he's usually using it as a defense for stealing a handful of curly fries or the last french toast stick from someone else's plate.

But it is, to be fair, not untrue. Omegas tend to hold onto the puppy fat that Alphas and Betas outgrow. In the old movies, before Omegas were allowed onscreen, Beta actors would intentionally gain weight to play Omega roles.

Most Omegas are just soft around the edges, though. Like Lydia and Isaac. Stiles is pushing a ways past the stereotype.

"Anyways," Stiles is saying. "I need new clothes. Like, yesterday. I couldn't even button my jeans this morning."

Derek stumbles a little as he stuffs his extra textbooks into his locker. He turns to look at Stiles, unable to help himself from seeing for himself. That it's not true. His belly hung a little bit down over the waistband, which it hadn't used to do, but he can see that his jeans are, indeed, actually buttoned.

And, looking in that direction, he can't help but wonder if Stiles's ass fills those jeans as well as his thighs do.

He quickly turns back to his locker. He moves a few things around randomly as he tries to bring his mind back to topics that won't give him an erection in the high school hallway.

He clears his throat and says, not looking at him, "Looks like you buttoned them, anyways."

"Well, yeah, *eventually*," Stiles says, sounding put upon.

"But, uh, I think you're right about needing new clothes," Derek agrees. He shoves his locker door shut.

"That's my point," Stiles says, bouncing on his heels. "So that means you'll come shopping with me after school?"

Derek sighs, having flashbacks already of his trip to the mall with Laura.

"Come on," Stiles whines. "My old dear Roscoe's in the shop--"

"Again?" Derek interjects.

"Shut up. Anyways, my jeep's in the shop, so I need a ride. And there isn't exactly room for shopping bags on the back of Scott's bike."

"Fine, but you'll owe me," Derek says, trying to sound begrudging and not like he just can't say 'no' to Stiles.

"You'll owe *me*," Stiles grins, patting him on the back. "This is going to be the rockingest shopping trip of your life, my man."

"I really hope not." Derek looks around, noticing that the hallway has cleared out. "Don't you have class to get to?"

Stiles is still grinning, "Dude, we both do. First period AP English."

"We're in class together?" Derek asks as he pulls out his schedule from his pocket. He looks at his schedule and, indeed, AP English. He shakes his head. "I don't even know my schedule yet and you have it memorized? How did you even get it in the first place?"

"I have my ways," Stiles says as he waggles his eyebrows at him. "And we have four classes together this year. You're not going to know what hit you."

"I'm sure I won't," Derek says dryly, trying not to look as happy at that as he is. Last year they hadn't shared any classes and they'd only had math together the year before.

"Well, Alpha." Stiles bats his eyelashes as he makes a move to hand his backpack to Derek. "Will you carry my books?"

"Carry them yourself, Omega," Derek says, but he can't fight back a smile as he bumps his shoulder into his.

 

"Derek?"

"Yeah?" Derek answers gruffly. He's sprawled in one of the chairs in front of the dressing rooms, flipping through SAT vocab on his phone. He's not doing great. The majority of his mind is occupied trying not to think about Stiles taking off his clothes less than ten feet away from him.

"Can you get me these in the next size up?" Stiles calls out

"Uh, okay." Derek stands up, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Which ones?"

A pair of jeans sails over the dressing room door, hitting Derek in the face before falling to the ground. Derek sighs and bends down to pick them up off the floor. So much for werewolf reflexes.

"Thanks Der-bear," comes Stiles's syrupy sweet voice.

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek says.

He trudges back out to the sales floor and finds the display Stiles had gotten these from. He folds the old jeans and finds the next size up.

He holds them up, and then double checks the size because they're big. The waist is pretty wide. But the size is right, and he supposes Stiles's waist is pretty wide right now, too.

As he walks back to the dressing rooms, he idly wonders how much weight Stiles must have put on this summer. If this is his size now, that means he's three sizes up from Derek. And, in order for Derek to get his jeans to fit, they had to be loose around his waist.

He wonders what Stiles would feel like on top of him, to feel all his weight. Wonders how heavy he would feel if Derek picked him up, held him against the wall, Stiles's thighs wrapped around his waist, belly pressed into him as Derek--

Okay. Even if Stiles doesn't have a werewolf's sense of smell, he has an Omega's sense for Alphas, so Derek needs to stop that train of thought right there.

 

"It fits!"

"Okay, let's go," Derek says, finishing tapping out a message to his sister. "I need to pick up Cora from karate."

"Why do werewolves need karate, anyways?" Stiles muses from behind the dressing room door. "You'd think with werewolf strength you wouldn't need it for self-defense. I wouldn't want to meet Cora in a dark alley."

"Stiles--"

"You think I can wear these new jeans out?" Stiles asks hopefully.

"What? No," Derek says.

He can hear the pout in his voice as Stiles says, "Ugh. Fine. But I'm not buttoning my old ones again that's for sure."

"Yes, you are." Derek pinches between his brow.

"Did you even see how much I ate for lunch today?"

Yes, Derek had. He couldn't have looked away if he'd tried. And he had tried. "No one forced you to eat all the curly fries in the cafeteria, Stiles."

"First, exaggeration," Stiles says. Derek hears the rustle of denim behind the door. "Second, I went all summer without Beacon Hills High's famous curly fries. I cannot be blamed."

"What is it with you and cafeteria curly fries?" Derek mutters.

"Well, they're delicious and nutritious. Duh." 

"They are neither of those things," Derek says. He hears a sharp inhalation of breath and then the metal teeth of a zipper that's probably on its last legs. "Someday I'm going to take you to the Burger Shack and make you eat curly fries that were made from actual potatoes."

"Really?" Stiles asks, sounding oddly pleased. "I'm holding you to that, Hale."

"You ready yet?" Derek asks, standing up from his chair, just as his phone pings. He glances down at it, then shuts it off and shoves it back into his pocket. "I really do have to pick up Cora."

"Yeah, I'm ready, hold your horses, geez." Stiles turns the latch and shoves the door open with his shoulder. His arms are piled down with his new jeans, a couple flannels and a bunch of logo t-shirts.

Derek can't help but glance down and see that, yes, Stiles had made good on his threat to leave his jeans unbuttoned.

He sighs. At least the zipper seems to be holding up, even with his belly looking like it would like to do nothing more than break free of all its confines. Small blessings.

 

\------------------

 

It's a few days later in the school cafeteria when Derek catches Stiles glancing longingly around the table. Not at their friends, but at their plates.

"Are you all right?" Derek asks, leaning forward.

"I'm fine," Stiles says quickly, and Derek notices his empty plate for the first time.

Scott seems to take notice then, and says from beside him, "Are you still hungry? You could get another plate."

"No," Stiles snaps.

"You barely took any food to begin with--" Scott starts.

"I said I'm fine."

Derek asks, concerned, "Are you sick?"

"He's probably finally put himself on a diet," Jackson says with a smirk.

It's said like a joke, but the way Stiles glances away, cheeks flushed in the fluorescent lights, makes Derek pause.

"You are?" Scott says incredulously, because he must have picked up on that, too. "Why?"

Stiles turns unbelieving eyes on him. "Dude, are you serious? Have you seen me?"

Scott looks like he's about to argue, but Stiles continues--

"I mean. I'm an omega. I probably couldn't be skinny again if I tried--"

From the other end of the table, Jackson mutters something from the other end of the table that even Derek with his werewolf hearing he can't make out. He glares at him anyways.

"--but it's come to my attention that I might have possibly taken it a little far?"

"You don't say," Erica says dryly.

"And," Stiles continues as he shoots her a narrow-eyed look. "I'm going to be Eligible soon--" in 38 days, Derek mentally supplies "--and it might be nice to look a little better."

Derek opens his mouth to protest that Stiles doesn't need to look *better* when he already looks perfect.

But Allison saves Derek from the inevitable embarrassment of saying that out loud by protesting, "You look fine, Stiles. You don't have to go on a diet."

"Plus," Lydia cuts in. "How much weight do you think you'd even lose in a month?"

"Well, it doesn't have to be just a month," Stiles says. His eyes meet Derek's and then he quickly looks away. Derek doesn't think Stiles realizes that his hand is resting protectively over the curve of his belly. "Who says I'm going to choose an alpha right away? Maybe I'm going to play hard to get. Draw it out for as many courting presents as I can get."

"Sounds about right," Jackson says.

Derek doesn't say anything. From an objective perspective, he knows Stiles can probably afford to lose a few pounds. If he lost the extra weight he'd put on that summer, he'd still be pretty soft. But Stiles clearly has no idea how alluring he is.

He wishes he could just tell him how good he looks like this. How much he wants to claim every inch of his body. 

Stiles eyes flick back to him as if he knows what Derek's thinking. 

Derek's mouth suddenly feels dry. He's usually better at keeping these sorts of thoughts under control around him. Omegas don't have werewolf's sense of smell, but they have a keen sense for Alphas. The required Dynamics class freshman year had certainly not mentioned it, but Derek suspects they can smell an Alpha's arousal.

"I'll allow it," Lydia's words cut through Derek's thoughts. It's with relief that he sees Stiles turns his gaze to her.

"Well, thanks for your permission. You know, that was exactly what I was after here," Stiles says sarcastically.

Lydia holds up her hand. "I'll allow it if you do it right. You can't starve yourself. You're going to eat healthy foods and you can start getting some exercise again, too."

"Hey, I get exercise," Stiles bristles. "Lacrosse--"

"Lacrosse season has been over for five months," she points out. Stiles crosses his arms.

"You know who should help you?" Lydia says, her eyes flitting over to Derek. "Derek."

"What? I really don't--" Derek starts, but isn't sure how to end that sentence. Don't have any experience with losing weight? Don't know the first thing about dieting? Don't think he's going to have any success getting Stiles to exercise? Don't think Stiles needs to do this, anyways?

"Yeah," Scott agrees with a grin, for some reason suddenly sounding completely on board with this plan. He turns to Stiles. "I mean, if you really want to do this, I'm sure Derek could give you a few pointers."

"But--" Stiles starts to say.

"He obviously knows a thing or two about fitness." A smirk plays on Lydia's lips as she looks Derek up and down.

"I just like working out," Derek says lamely, hunching into himself. They've been back at school less than a week and he's already getting attention from his classmates of all dynamics for the extra muscle he's put on these past few months.

It's one thing when Stiles does it. It's usually in the context of trying to get him to carry something for him, anyways. Though there was that time yesterday when he'd just reached out and run his fingers down the front of Derek's shirt, over his abs, complaining that it wasn't fair.

Derek hadn't thought it was fair, either. But mostly because he would have liked, really liked, to reach out and touch Stiles's stomach, too. But he isn't as good as crossing the lines of propriety that Stiles regularly barrels past, so he'd just cleared his throat and given Stiles a pointed look.

The lascivious looks from other people, though, Derek could definitely do without. Like when Jennifer had pretended to trip in the hallway and caught herself with a hand on Derek's bicep. She'd run her fingers over his arm until Derek yanked it away, stammering out an excuse about being late to class. Or when Kate had passed him in the hall earlier and licked her lips as she looked him up and down and told him he was growing quite nicely into an Alpha.

"Of course you don't have to," Lydia's saying, bringing Derek back to the present. "If you're too busy, I'm sure Aiden or Ethan could help you out. Aiden owes me a favor, anyways."

"No, I'll help," Derek says quickly. He gets along with the twin Alphas well enough. But he'd had to watch both of them flirt with Stiles too many times during lacrosse practices last year to stomach the idea of them spending one on one time with him.

Never mind that, when Stiles becomes Eligible soon enough, he's going to be surrounded by Alphas trying to court him. Alphas that will certainly include the twins.

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, biting his lip as he looks up at Derek.

"Yeah. Sure." Derek gives him a small smile.

 

As Derek drops his tray into the bin on his way out of the cafeteria, he overhears Stiles mutter, "Oh my god, I can't handle this. This is a disaster. This is going to backfire so bad."

Derek glances back across the cafeteria to see Stiles dropping his head forlornly onto the table as Scott looks on with a concerned look.

"You're doing this for him, aren't you?" Scott asks.

"Of course I am," Stiles says. His voice is muffled as he buries his head into his arms on the table. "I have to convince him to choose me before he finds someone hotter who's actually good at being an Omega."

Derek's heart sinks down into his chest. Scott starts to say something back, but Derek blocks out the sound of his voice as he hurries out of the cafeteria.

He's been an idiot. Apparently, without realizing it, he's been hanging onto the hope that Stiles might wait until Derek turns 18 and he can get a chance court him.

But now he knows there's a 'him' in particular that Stiles wants to attract. And, for some reason, he thinks he needs to be less chubby to do it.

All through the last two periods of the day, Derek tortures himself wondering which male Alpha it is. Maybe it is Ethan or Aiden, after all. He doesn't think Stiles would ever be interested in Jackson. It could be Corey. Noah. Or someone else entirely. It's pretty common, anyways, for Omegas to be claimed by older Alphas. It could be a Deputy he knows from the Sheriff's station. It could be anyone. 

 

"So, this is it." Stiles whistles, turning around in the foyer. "The Hale pack headquarters."

"Headquarters?" Derek repeats.

"Lair. Burrow. Den. Hideout. What would you call it?"

"How about house?"

Stiles throws up his arms. "You're no fun, you know. Seriously. If I were a werewolf, I would totally have a den."

Derek shakes his head, but can't help the smile he can feel on his face as he leads Stiles up the stairs to his bedroom.

He'd tried to convince Stiles that it would be more proper to meet somewhere public. But Stiles had protested, "Come on, dude. This whole situation is embarrassing enough, isn't it? And who's going to gossip about me? Cora? Doubtful."

"Omegas sticking together?" Derek had asked.

Stiles had given him a strange look for a moment, then just shook his head. "Sure, man. Let's go with that. Omega solidarity for the win!"

At least one else besides Cora is around to get the wrong idea about Derek bringing an Omega home with him. His mother's still at work. Laura is three thousand miles away at college. And Peter is who-knows-where. 

He can hear Cora in her room, video chatting with Lydia. Ever since she presented as an Omega last year, she's been spending more and more time with her. Derek figures she must look up to her, being a Senior and two years older than her. At least with Lydia as a role model, she'll learn how to take care of herself. He just tries not to think about what other terrifying things Lydia might be teaching her.

So Derek ushers Stiles into his room. He carefully leaves the door open behind them and drops their backpacks down next to his dresser while Stiles goes to inspect his bookshelf.

"I can go get us a snack," Derek offers a little awkwardly.

"No, I'm good, man."

Derek eyes him. All Stiles had for lunch today was a chicken salad that Lydia picked out for him. He'd stared at it forlornly for a good few minutes before finally picking up his fork.

"Lydia said you're not supposed to starve yourself, you know," Derek reminds him.

"I'm not," Stiles says with an entirely fake smile. "I'm just not hungry."

Derek's Alpha instincts tell him he needs to prove that he can provide for him. But he knows that Stiles isn't all that impressed by 'Alpha instincts', so he decides not to push it further.

"Okay, then, should we get started?" Derek asks, sitting down in his desk chair.

"Mmhmm," Stiles murmurs, turning away from his bookshelf. He wanders across the room but then stops suddenly in front of his bedside table. He snatches up a book and Derek feels frozen to his chair as a delighted grin spreads over his face.

Derek's only worry about taking him up to his room had been the impropriety of it. Unlike either of his sisters, he's always kept it clean. He'd even changed his sheets that morning. But he hadn't known Stiles would be coming over and so he hadn't thought to put away *that book*.

"The Prince's Mistress?" Stiles flips the book around and starts to read the description out loud. "Terryn Marksman is an Alpha who's never found the right Omega. Elayne Winters is an--"

Derek finally comes out of his stupor and lunges across the room for the book. Despite his werewolf reflexes, Stiles spins and manages to hold it out of his reach.

"An Omega who has always said she didn't want an Alpha--" Stiles starts laughing, having trouble getting the words out. Derek presses the advantage and reaches for it again, knocking it out of his hands. But he over-balances and crashes into Stiles, making them both fall backwards onto the bed. Stiles still hasn't stopped laughing and Derek just barely manages to catch himself so he doesn't land on Stiles with his full weight.

"It's Laura's," Derek says insistently, balancing over Stiles with his hands beside his head.

"Uh huh," Stiles says with another laugh. Derek can his stomach, where it's pressed into his own, jiggle with the movement. "Laura. Who's in New York. Somehow happened to leave it there on your bedside table?"

"Yes?" Derek tries.

Stiles waggles his eyebrows. "This is one of those where the Alpha seduces the Omega and Claims and Binds her during her heat?"

"No!" Derek denies, feeling his cheeks flush. "It's not one of those."

"God, Derek, you are my new favorite." Stiles is still grinning as he reaches up and pats Derek's shoulder. 

Derek feels his heart skip a beat even though he knows, he *knows* that 

He realizes they've been just staring at each other for a while now. He watches Stiles's eyes darken, watches his grin turn into something--else. Watches his tongue dart out to lick his lips. Derek finds himself copying the motion. He really, really wants to kiss those lips. Wants to bury his nose in his neck and breathe in the scent of Stiles crossed with young-healthy-Omega that's so much stronger this close. He wants to touch him all over, feel every curve and every angle of his body.

The only point they're touching right now is where Stiles's belly presses into Derek's own. It rounds up further than Derek would have thought. He wants to reach down and feel yielding flesh.

And thinking of Stiles's belly triggers his mind to remember why Stiles is here in the first place. And realize how close he is to doing something very, very inappropriate. Especially when it's another Alpha who Stiles wants.

He lifts himself back up off him. The separation is almost painful. So is the way Stiles's eyes shutter.

Stiles struggles to sit up from the awkward angle and his belly a little too much in the way. Derek offers him a hand and helps him up to sit on the edge of the bed. They're still staring at each other, Stiles's thighs still bracketed by Derek's legs. He watches Stiles bite his lip.

Derek suddenly realizes he's still holding onto his hand. He drops it quickly.

"Derek, I--" Stiles starts to say, voice hoarse.

"You want to lose weight," Derek interrupts, because he doesn't want to hear the rejection that's going to come out of Stiles's mouth. He drops back into his desk chair. "I don't know how to come up with a diet. What do you want me to do?"

Stiles just stares at him for a moment, as if he doesn't understand. And then he shakes his head, finally breaking eye contact.

"Right, of course. I need to lose weight. That's why I'm here," he says. He reaches for his backpack. "Lydia made a plan."

Derek takes the piece of notebook paper that Stiles hands over and glances down at the neat curves of Lydia's writing.

"So, how much do you weigh?" Derek asks.

"What?" Stiles chokes out.

Derek points at the first item on the list: 'Weigh yourself.'

"Oh. Well, I don't have any idea," Stiles says. "How much do you think I weigh?"

Derek can't help but glance up and down at Stiles's body. Even in his new, looser clothes it's obvious how soft he's gotten.

"I don't know," Derek says. "More than you used to?"

"Well, obviously," Stiles says. He runs a hand through his hair, already in disarray from their scuffle over the book. "Do you have a scale, then?"

"No," Derek says. He's never seen one in the house and he certainly isn't going to go ask Cora if she has one. He doubts she does, anyways. She may have presented early last year as a freshman, which means her Omega hormones should have been stronger, but she's still as thin as she's always been.

"I don't have one, either," Stiles says.

"There's one in the locker room. I could probably sneak you in after school tomorrow," Derek offers.

"Perfect." Stiles rubs his hands together. "Next?"

"'Set realistic goals'," Derek reads off. "Why is 'realistic' underlined three times?"

"Because Lydia's met me." Stiles rolls his eyes. "Okay. Goals. Well, I want to attract an Alpha."

"Realistic goals, Stiles," Derek says dryly.

"Shut up, asshole." But Stiles laughs, the tension in the room finally breaking. He throws one of Derek's own pillows at him. 

Derek catches it easily and tosses it back to him. Stiles fumbles it like it's a lacrosse pass and it falls to the floor.He moves to pick it up and It looks more difficult than it should be, with his belly getting in the way as he leans down.

"You know you don't have to lose weight to attract an Alpha," Derek says, more seriously.

"I know." Stiles waves a hand, setting the pillow back at the head of Derek's bed. "There's this pheremone stuff and a lot of Alphas won't care what I look like anyways when they can have the 'prestige' of bagging a male Omega."

"That's not what I meant," Derek starts to say.

"But," Stiles continues as if he didn't hear him. "I don't want just any Alpha."

"Right," Derek says, stomach dropping as he's reminded, again, that Stiles already knows which Alpha he wants.

"Okay, realistic goals." Stiles looks down and puts a hand on his belly, rubbing down the curve of it as if he's examining the size. "Lose the weight I gained this summer, then."

Derek has trouble thinking for a moment, eyes glued to the strangely hot motion of Stiles's hand on his chubby belly. But Stiles suddenly snatches his hand away. Derek glances up to see Stiles looking at him and Derek feels his cheeks heat, realizing he was caught.

He clears his throat, trying to remember what they were talking about. Right. Stiles wants to lose the weight from the summer.

"It'll probably take a few months," he finally says. "We were out of school for three months and it looks like you were eating a lot that whole time."

"Oh god." Stiles looks up at the ceiling. "Seriously, kill me now."

"No, Stiles. I didn't--it doesn't *matter*," Derek protests, feeling queasy.

"No, you're right," Stiles says, shoulders slumping as he turns back to face him. "I do eat too much. I mean, even if it's mostly because of the stupid Omega hormones, I could still have some self-control. But that's why I'm here, right?"

"I guess," Derek says reluctantly. "But--"

"So teach me. What am I supposed to being eating?"

"I don't really know," Derek starts.

"Dude, look at you." Stiles gestures at him. "Don't tell Lydia I agreed with her, but you are obviously doing something right."

Alone with Stiles, Derek feels less embarrassed at having his body pointed out, and more pride at Stiles's approval. Though he wishes he had the words to reciprocate that approval without giving too many of his own feelings away.

So he says instead, "I guess you could just eat what I eat."

"But all you eat is chicken and vegetables," Stiles says, looking dismayed. "Chicken that is not in nugget form."

Derek raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, crap, that's the point, isn't it?" Stiles sighs. "All right. Bring on the boneless, skinless chicken breasts."

"You can eat the bones. Those are okay," Derek says, straight-faced.

"Oh, thanks," Stiles says sarcastically.

"I like fish," Derek says, thinking harder. "Deer is good, too--"

"Yeah, we call that venison, Mr Werewolf. You going to tell me to eat rabbit next?"

"No," Derek says. "Rabbit tastes pretty fatty."

"Okay," Stiles says, holding up a hand. "I am going to pretend that you do not know what rabbit tastes like. Because if you wolf out and hunt bunnies on full moons, I don't think I can be your friend anymore."

"Not often. The fur gets stuck in my teeth." Derek smirks as Stiles reaches over to flick his shoulder. "Hey, you're the one who wanted to know what I eat."

"I take it back," he says, hurriedly. "I take it all back."

 

The problem with having Stiles in his room, Derek realizes as he tries to sleep that night, is that Stiles was in his room.

He hadn't realized how many things Stiles had touched. His bookshelf, his desk, his nightstand. It was almost as if he had been intentionally scent marking his entire room.

And his bed? Seriously, why had Derek let Stiles sit on his bed? He can even smell Stiles's scent on the pillow he'd thrown at him. Cotton and flannel and Omega and just Stiles.

The rational part of Derek knows he should change the sheets.Instead, he buries his nose in the pillow and tries not to give in to jerking off to the scent of him.

He lasts about thirty seconds before he's remembering the feel of Stiles underneath him. Thinking about what might have happened if he'd kissed him. Stiles's lips would be soft and maybe he'd arch up to meet him. Maybe he'd even take over. Push Derek back so he's underneath Stiles. He'd keep kissing him, open-mouthed, eager. And, between kisses, Stiles would talk. He'd definitely talk. He'd tell Derek how slick he was, how much he wanted his cock in him. Derek would squeeze his ass, it would feel as plush as it looks filling out his jeans.

They'd grind their hips together. Maybe they'd have to reposition themselves so Stiles's belly wouldn't be in the way. Derek doesn't know why that thought is so hot, but Stiles's belly--god, the contrast between their bodies with Stiles full and swollen from all the weight he's gained. Stiles would keep kissing him. Keep telling him how good Derek feels, how much he wants him, and--

And Derek, without ever consciously reaching for his cock, is coming all over his hand and his sheets.

He collapses onto his back. All around him now he can smell the scent of sex and Stiles.

He is never changing these sheets again.

 

Derek usually brings his own lunch to school and the next morning, as he'd offered the day before, he packs one for Stiles as well.

He sets it down in front of him on the cafeteria table. Stiles look up at him, eyes wide and happy.

"No bunnies, right?" he says, opening the paper bag.

"No bunnies."

"And no bambi?"

"Some people consider deer a delicacy, you know," Derek points out.

"Mmmm, deer," Scott, seated beside Stiles, gets a dreamy look on his face.

Stiles punches his shoulder. "Save it for the full moon, 'wolf."

Derek rolls his eyes.

 

 

That afternoon, he sneaks Stiles into the empty alpha/beta boys locker room.

"So this is the paeon to masculinity and alphaness," Stiles says, bouncing on his feet as he looks around. "A little disappointing, actually."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I find it unlikely that you've never snuck in here before."

"What, me? That would be improper, now, wouldn't it?" Stiles heads down the corridor, sniffing in the scents as he goes. 

"Then who pulled that prank on Finstock last year?" Derek trails behind him.

Stiles shoots him a quick grin, then points at a locker. "This one's yours."

Human omegas had a better sense of smell than most other humans. At least when it came to discerning alpha scents. So Derek shouldn't have been surprised he'd found it so quickly.

"What you keeping in here, Hale? Anything good?" Stiles teases, rattling the locked door.

"Depends what you consider good," he says. "A sweaty lacrosse uniform. Socks. Some muddy shoes."

"Okay, okay, fine. I get the picture," Stiles pushes past him. "Let's move on to the highlight of our evening."

"The scale's over there," Derek points.

"Jesus," Stiles says as he walks up to it. "How old is this? It's got one of those weight thingies. What is it even used for? Do you guys have to do a weigh-in for lacrosse or something? Make sure you're putting on enough muscle and that Greenburg's not pudging out?"

Derek shrugs. "I don't think so. We've never had to before."

"Well, let's just do it." Stiles steps onto the platform and the balance bounced down with a loud clang. Stiles winces.

"Yeah, do you know how to use it?" Derek asks.

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"I'll do it." Derek reaches for the weights.

Stiles gives him long look. Then nods. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're gonna know the number, anyways."

Derek frowns. He hadn't expected Stiles to be worried about him knowing exactly how much he weighed. He'd already seen how heavy he'd looked with his old clothes clinging to every curve that first day of school. His new clothes are looser, but don't exactly hide his weight, either.

"I don't have to, not if you don't want me to," Derek offers, pulling his hand away from the balance.

"No. No, it's fine. I'm being stupid," Stiles says quickly.

"Okay. Where should I start?"

"I thought you knew how this thing worked."

"No, I mean, I'll start at what you usually weigh," Derek says.

"Oh, got it." Stiles says, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it more. "I don't know. Last time I got weighed was a couple years ago and I was a hundred seventy-something."

"Okay," Derek says. He moved the bigger weight over and--

"Whoah, whoah, you're starting at 200 pounds?" Stiles exclaims.

"Uh, yeah?" Derek stares at him.

"Way to highball it, geez. Start at 180 at least," he says.

"Stiles," Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's not balancing at 200."

"Oh," Stiles says weakly. "Carry on, then."

"Thank you," Derek says dryly. He slides the ten over and it is definitely closer to balancing now. He starts with the one-pound weighs now.

"You're slow, is it always this slow?" Stiles complains.

"It would have been even slower if I'd started at 180," Derek points out, moving another ten over when he runs out of ones.

"Yeah, well, I'm just saying, in deference to my feelings, you could have started a little lower than 200 pounds."

"There," Derek says, and gestures to the balanced scale. "223."

Stiles gapes at it. Then at Derek. "Uh, do you think that's a big number? It looks like a big number. It's a really big number, isn't it?"

"Um, well." Derek rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "It's not a small number."

"What do you weigh? Less than 223 pounds?" Stiles asks. Then says quickly, "No, wait. Don't tell me. I'm only going to feel even worse."

Derek wants to tell him there's no reason for him to feel bad in the first place. Wants to tell him this is all stupid and if he was willing to settle for Derek instead of the alpha he had his mind set on that Derek would adore his body at any weight it's ever been. That he wouldn't want him to lose a single one of his 223 pounds.

But he can't say that. And so Stiles just sighs and steps off the scale. "So, how much do I need to lose?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"I'm supposed to have a goal, right? If I don't know how much I need to lose I can't make a goal," Stiles tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek wonders if Stiles is aware they rest over the top of his belly like that.

"Well," Derek says, scratching the back of his neck, eyes still drawn to the way Stiles's position emphasizes the big curve of his belly. "You said you wanted to lose the weight from the summer, right?"

"Yeah," he bites his lip. "But maybe that's not enough. I don't know if you noticed, but I kind of gained some weight last year, too,"

"I noticed," Derek says.

"Right." Stiles shakes his head, looking chagrined. "So even if I lost the weight from the summer, it might not be enough, right? Maybe I'd still be too fat. I should try to get back to where I was at the beginning of junior year."

"No," Derek says quickly. Derek remembered what Stiles had looked like a year ago. Even has a few blurry group photos saved on his phone. He hadn't been skinny, exactly; he'd been a few pounds away from a flat stomach. But there hadn't even been much more of a hint of the soft curves he'd get later that year. 

"What?"

What can Derek say except, "Realistic, right? The goal has to be realistic?"

"Oh." Stiles glances away. He turns to one of the full length mirrors and drops his arms. Derek watches as he runs his eyes up and down his own reflection. Stiles watches in the mirror while he rubs his hands up and down the broad curve of his gut. He turns to the side and tries to suck in. And then exhales in a rush and lets his belly bounce back out. It would have been -- okay, actually was a little bit -- arousing to watch. To see both of them in the mirror, a picture of contrast between Derek, broad and muscled, and Stiles, all soft curves.

But Stiles is clearly agitated.

"Hey," Derek says, coming up behind him. He lays a hand on his shoulder. Stiles turns quickly to look up at him, then looks back to the mirror. "It's okay. You know you don't have to do this--"

"I'll just lose the weight from the summer, then," Stiles interrupts. He frowns as he gives the flesh of his belly a pinch through his shirt. "How much do you think it is?"


End file.
